British Gangsters, The Getaway Man - A Weekly Dispatch Report from 1939.

This is the final report on the seedy side of pre war London by John Worby in the Weekly Dispatch.

One night I found myself outside a cafe on the main North Road. I went in to scrounge a cup of tea, and as I was telling the tale - that I had had no food for a couple of days - a man walked over to me and said "Did I hear you say that you were hungry?"

He turned to the chap behind the counter and said: "Give him a cup of tea and eggs and bacon." Then he asked me to sit at his table. He was a smart looking man of about thirty. But his eyes were very shifty and he seemed to be ill at ease as he talked to me. He kept looking out at his car through the window - a flash looking car.

Suddenly he asked me if I could drive.

"Anything." I answered.

"Maybe I can use you," he said. "Better come back with me to London."

Questioned.

After we had gone some distance he asked me if I'd ever done 'time.' I immediately replied "No."

Then he said: "Well, how do you get your living?"

"By my wits," I replied.

"That's just what I thought," he exclaimed. "How would you like to make yourself some real money?"

I told him that I didn't mind making some real money so long as there is no blood spilt.

"You needn't worry about that," he said. "There's no slugging to be done in my job. All you've got to do is to be a good driver."

Suddenly he pulled over in to the side of the road and made me take the wheel. I accelerated quickly and shot into top gear, missing the second gate. The car leaped from underneath us. I thought there was something peculiar about the car as the steering was beautiful and the car was very easy to handle. It was more than an ordinary car of its make and the purr of its engine reminded me of an aeroplane - heavily muffled.

I wished to impress the man and accordingly took every corner very shortly and as near to the edge as possible. On several occasions I felt the rear of the car skid round, but with the skidding I decreased my speed and then opened up wide as soon as I got on the straight.

At last I felt the man was getting rather nervous. He put his hand gently on my arm and said: "You'd better pull up."

"You're just the boy for my job," was his summing up.

"Gadgets"

Then he added: "Now I'll get you in on the racket, and chance the consequences. This drag (car) you're in belongs to me and the boys. We're on a hot racket in town and can get away with plenty. Only we want a good driver, somebody who can get in and out of the crowd and leave 'em standing."

"What's the racker, then?" I asked.

"We do smash and grabs, but it's all done to time," he replied. "I'm the brains of the gang and we split what we get. You'll be the driver in the next raid. Have you noticed anything about this drag?"

"It's no ordinary engine you've got under the bonnet," I replied.

"Clever boy!" he remarked rather sarcastically. "How did you guess it?"

He then told me that if I felt underneath the dashboard I'd find two wires which, when pulled, tilted the licence plate so that the numbers could not be read. He pointed to a pedal beside the self starter and told me to press it with my foot. I did so and the four doors of the car flew open.

"Now," he said, "if you pull on the hand break the doors will shut."

He then showed me the other little gadgets in the car. By pressing a button the blinds of the car would go down. There was a sliding panel in the floor and another in the back of the car, all worked by buttons. He lifted up the seat and showed me a dozen different licence plates to be used when the car was being trailed. The driver had to put on enough speed to get clear of the trailing car in order to do the trick of changing the plates without detection.

*****************************

We arrived in the East End of London and pulled up in a deserted street in a very slummy district. He tooted a special signal on the horn and a few seconds later a man came running to the side of the car. My companion grunted a quick word of command and then said to me; "come on!"

I followed into what appeared to be a deserted building. As we climbed in the dark up some wooden stairs my companion gave a whistling signal; a faint reply was heard from above. We went up three of four flights of stairs and at last I saw a thin faint beam of light coming from under a door. My companion knocked in a certain way on the door, and he received a similar reply. To this he tapped again and the door was opened.

We entered the room and I stood for a moment under the glare of a dozen gangsters. "It's all right boys," said my companion. "Another member." They grunted and asked where I had come from. My companion, or "The Brains" as they called him, replied: "He's got no come from. He's just here, and that's good enough for any of you!"

While this talk went on I gazed around the room. The windows were heavily draped with sacking. The table was a big sugar crate, on which was a piece of coarse cloth. About the room stood battered and broken cigarette machines, old safes, gas meters, silver cups, furs, oil paintings, bales of clothes and silks, and all sorts of loot.

Inside a large broken safe was a small smelting pot, beside which lay a lump of molten gold and a larger mould of silver. As I sat down on a box I listened to the discussion of the gang's next raid - a pawnbrokers shop.

The Brains confided to the men that I was a good driver and just the right man for them. The raid was to take place in the small hours of the morning. A man read out the times when the slops on their beat passed the "job." There were about five minutes to spare in which to do everything and they all agreed that this was ample time.

Presently two flashy dressed young women came in. They flaunted across the room and smiled. Nobody greeted them. Then without saying a word they sat down on a box at the far end of the room and the men carried on talking as if the women weren't there.

The "Split"

At last the Brains said; "Will you have the split now or will you have it tomorrow?"

There was no answer. Nobody seemed in any need of money. "Well," he said. "I'll give it to you now." And pulling out a role of notes from inside his waistcoat he handed them round to everybody in the room. He gave me one pound, saying; "You'll come in on the next split."

Then he beckoned to the two girls sitting in the far corner and we four left the room, while the rest of the crooks were still huddled together mumbling in a low drone.

The Brains took the wheel of the car and I sat in front beside him as we started off. It seems to me very strange that the women had never said one word since I set eyes on them. All they had done was to smile, till at last I thought they were dumb. But as we came to the busier part of London with lights and shops that were shut, the Brains turned and said; "That's the spot I want you to take Nell."

"OK!" she replied in a tough way.

Farther on the Brains said to me; "That's the job," and he pointed to a pawnshop. "You'll pull up over there and the Boys will do the rest. As soon as the Boys get the stuff in the drag, you drive away as fast as you can where the Boys tell you and the job will be a piece of cake."

Then driving on a bit farther he turned to the other girl and said; "There's your pitch, Mona."

"Right-o!" she replied.

As we drove on he said; "Well, I suppose you all know your stuff now, so I'll let you women out here." They got out and walked back in the direction from where we had just come from. The Brains then said to me; "The Boys will be along any time now."

By this time I was getting rather implicated in the job, so I began to think of a way out. I said to the Brains; "Better drive round till we come to an all night cafe, for a cup of tea, then I'll be all set for anything."

"Yes," he said. "I think I could do one too."

Escape

We soon arrived at a cafe, and the Brains said; "You go in first and I'll wait in the tub." So after a tea, I returned and sat in the car while the Brains went in. But as soon as he got out of sight, I slipped out of the car and ran around the corner.

I hailed a taxi and was so excited when the driver said, "Where to, sir?" that I answered, "Anywhere!"

He looked at me rather puzzled and as he was wasting time I shouted out; "Charing Cross as quickly as you can, I've a train to catch."

He drove off, but I was rather ill at ease in this taxi and before the meter came to a shilling I said; "Stop here, you're too slow." I got out and paid the fare. And although he looked at me as though he thought me a rum customer. I gave him a shilling tip, which changed his features altogether.

I strolled into the night and felt thankful to have seen what I had seen and at the same time to have escaped trouble.

**************************

Once I made up my mind to get a job and really make a career for myself. But I soon found this too difficult. This made me feel very bitter and I went out on the spree and spent all the money I had. After this I started on a racket with George, a pal of mine.

We took a small office in the West End, and put the following advertisement in the papers:

What Every Young Couple about to be Married should have. Illustrated, 2/6.

Then we sat back and waited for the money to roll in. It wasn't long before we were making £15 a week. For the 2s 6d we sent the gullible public a small illustrated Bible which cost us about fourpence. But a well known weekly paper got on our tracks, and wrote us up, calling us everything but gentlemen. So in three weeks we had to pack up and think of something else.

Soap Racket

This time we bought some ordinary yellow scrubbing soap. We had labels printed for it, describing it as "Rheumatic Healing Soap." This we advertised as follows; Wash Your Rheumatism Away.

We were soon selling it like hot cakes at one shilling a slab. But the joke of it was that people even wrote for more, saying what tremendous relief they had got from it. But all good things must come to an end, and so did the soap racket. We spent all the profits, got into debt, and could buy no more soap.

John Worby in the London Hospital after being beaten up by gangsters.

Devil Worship, Dope, and a West End Flat - A Weekly Dispatch Report from 1939.

The author John Worby on his wedding day.

This is the second installment of John Worby's "British Gangsters" article in The Weekly Dispatch published in 1939.

West End.

In Frith Street, Soho, I met Gladys, a girl I had known in Manchester. "Hullo Bert," she said, using the name she had known me by, "Since I last saw you I've learned a lot, and I've not forgotten what you said that night in Corporation Street, remember?"

"No," I replied "I meet so many people in my travels, I can't remember what I said to all of them."

"Well," she said, "I remember all too well. And if you hadn't stopped me I'd still be on the streets, Anyway, you don't look so bad."

I thought she might be in on something so I said "I've got about two shillings to see me through into another racket."

"Alright, but I'm not on my own, but if you want I can give you a good tip, be here at six o'clock tonight." With that she gave me a slip of paper with an address on it. I had a lot of time to kill so I walked around town wondering what sort of racket she was into. At six o'clock I was outside the address Gladys had given me, a nice little place in Shaftesbury Avenue.

I knocked and a head popped out of a window and a key was thrown down. I opened the door and there was a girl I'd never seen before asking me in.

Luxury Flat.

As the door closed behind me Gladys came in and greeted me. Talking to her friend - her name was Dippy, and she came from Newcastle - she said "This is the bloke I was telling you about, he once did me a good turn." She sat down in a nice easy chair, taking a cigarette she offered one, before I had lighted it, Dippy said "I'm off now, Glad, see you in the morning."

Gladys went to get a drink ready, and I took a look round. I saw real luxury for the first time in quite a while. "Swell joint you got here, Glad." "You ain't seen nothing yet." she said, "Here, have a drink, and I'll show you round."

Holding up my glass of whisky I said "Well, here's health girl." I drained my glass in two gulps, I shuddered, pulled a face, and felt the tingling warmth.

"What's up, Bert, don't you like whisky?" "Yes, but not as strong as that. I drink for effect, not for the taste."

"You'll get some effect all right, but only if you stop here long."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Sure," she said, "What do you think I've asked you here for?" First we went to her bedroom. It was beautifully furnished with two walnut twin beds. The wardrobe and the dressing table were also of walnut. The carpet was a thick pile. There was a telephone between the beds. The whole colour scheme was of ivory and gold.

We then went into the bathroom, where everything was also ivory and gold, with the walls of green tiles and mirrors hanging on them. The dining room was laid out in the same lavish fashion. The walls in every room were panelled with mirrors, so that the light was reflected from every corner. I learnt later that the whole place had cost Gladys £800 to do up this way.

My Advice.

"You've got me beat," I said.

"You'll soon see that you were the first to put this idea into my head."

We sat down in the room I had first come into, and Gladys told me how she had got on since that night in Manchester. When I had seen her then she had run away from home owing to some trouble, and was down and out. She tapped me for a cigarette. I could tell from her manner that she was fresh from home.

I only had a few bob on me, but I gave her what I could. And I advised her to "cheat" any men who were ready to take advantage of her lack of money. On coming to London she had met Dippy in Hyde Park, and after a few days they had decided to work together.

"Perhaps you think I've got this on tick, Bert, or I'm an old man's darling. If you do you'll soon see. You can stop here for as long as you like, but don't get me wrong."

"Glad, thanks for the break. I won't let you down."

That night Gladys and I drank a good deal of whisky and talked of her exploits, although well lit, she still looked composed and confident. As I looked across the room I saw a slight slim girl of about 23, with blond hair and blue eyes in a pale oval face. He eyes were sparkling with the effects of the drink, and she showed perfect white teeth between very red lips. I valued the jewellery she was wearing at about £300.

Boy Friend.

Just then the telephone bell rang. After answering it, Gladys came back and said, "It was only a friend who wanted me to go out with him tonight. He's got plenty of dough, but I keep him hoping; it does him good."

By this time it was getting late, so I took the opportunity of having a bath, and then went to bed. I lay down on a bed fit for a king, and wondered to myself how everything would turn out. I still intended to get a job, but first of all I wanted to see a bit of this racket.

While I was lying there thinking, Gladys came into the room, pulled a screen round her bed and went behind it. In a few minutes she pushed it back and stood there in a pair of silk pyjamas. She pattered about the room for a bit and then got into her bed.

When I awoke it was just getting daylight. I lay wondering what to do next, Gladys woke up at about ten o'clock. After breakfast she gave me ten bob to buy food for the day. With that I left, telling her I'd be back at the flat at six o'clock.

"Snide" Work.

I knew a spiv in Compton Street, and I made my first call there. We talked for some time, and then he asked me if I wanted to make a bit of easy dough. "Sure, I'm game for anything," I replied. 

A Spiv in action.

"Well, if you can change these before one o'clock, I'll see what can be done about it." As he spoke he gave me four snides (counterfeit half crowns). I left George and went on to a cafe. Here I met another fellow. "How's this?" I said, and I passed him a snide.

"My God, that's a good take! I'll give you a chip (shilling) for it and any more you can get hold of." At one o'clock I went to the address George had given me. He asked me in.

"Well, the baby's all right with me," I said. "A chip a time and as many as you can get hold of." He opened an oven and took out a tray of snide. He took off the lid of the press, and very carefully prised open the plaster. I saw two dozen snide of the best make. The dies were perfect, and the coins rang fairly true after they had been cooled and hardened in a mixture of George's own manufacture.

"Ok," I said, "I'll start graft with you in the morning."

*********************************************************************

When I got back to the flat Gladys said, "Listen, Bonzo, I've got a job for you tonight. Meet me outside Boots Piccadilly, at eight." At eight I was on the spot at Boots. I hadn't been there many minutes when a taxi pulled up and Gladys got out.

As she brushed past me I felt a little jolt in my jacket pocket. I watched her go into the chemist's and then I went back to the flat. There I looked in my pocket, and found a wallet. In it were photographs, theatre tickets, stamps and also £28 10s.

I waited on pins and needles for Gladys to get back. The temptation to quit with the money got stronger every minute, but I made myself wait. At last I heard a taxi stop. An elderly man was just coming in at the door, I went quickly into the bathroom and shut the door. I heard them come in.

"What a nice place this is, Toots," the man said.

"Not bad is it? Sit down while I get you a drink."

In a few minutes Gladys came to the bathroom and whispered to me to creep outside and telephone her. I went out quietly to a call box and phoned Gladys. She told me to call in and see her. When I arrived back at the flat Gladys introduced me as a private detective. I then heard the story.

It appeared that Gladys had met Mr X when he was with another girl she had never seen before, Gladys was annoyed and had some words with the girl. During the struggle Mr X tried to separate them. The other girl then ran away and left Gladys with Mr X. Gladys was exhausted after the fight, and so they got into a taxi and went to Boots, where Gladys had a tonic.

From there they went to a cafe, and then Mr X found his wallet gone. He knew that Toots wouldn't do such a thing, and knew it must have been the other girl. He described her to me, and I knew at once it had to be Dippy.

Acting The Part.

I smiled to myself at the clever way these girls were working. Gladys gave me a few more details, from which I took my cue. I told Mr X that I would certainly find the girl, but pointed out there would be little chance of getting the money back without prosecution.

Mr X seemed reluctant to do this, but Gladys said it was the only way to stop honest men from being robbed by such trash as these. I left them then, having made arrangements to report to Gladys. I hung around for an hour or so and then rang up Gladys, who said it was ok. So I made my way up back to the flat.

Gladys told me Mr X had decided that he would rather let the matter drop than face any unpleasant publicity. She had lent the old boy a fiver and was going to get it back tomorrow. I was given £8 as my share.

*********************************************************************

Next day when I went round George gave me 50 half crowns, and I realised that he wasn't the only one in the game, and that the mint I had seen was only a blind for suckers like me. After haggling, he agreed to pay me £1 a day if I got rid of the 50s worth a day. After seeing Rickets, who gave me the price of them, I went back to the flat.

*********************************************************************

Gladys had just come in. She had a nice diamond ring on her finger. "Done it again?" I said. "Yeah. Mr X gave it to me, and sent you £5 for your trouble." While I was sitting down having a drink, Gladys said to me "Bonzo, I'm afraid the game is up."

I was surprised, and asked her why. "Dippy's going home, she's packed the job in. The silly girl wasn't satisfied with getting rocks (diamonds) and bracelets and things every day, and plenty of dough. I can't work at this game on my own, she was always the mug finder and I was the one who got the spoils."

I gave Gladys a double Scotch. One drink led to another, and by six o'clock she was talking some. "Listen, Bonzo," she said. "Lets you and me work together and make this dive a club."

"Sure, I'm game, but where's the dough?"

"Oh, I've got that," and she showed me a bank pass book with a sum in four figures. "And that ain't all. If I get rid of these rocks that'll be enough won't it?" As she spoke she unlocked a little desk and brought out a small box full of diamonds and precious stones of all sizes.

Year's Spoils.

Then she got another box containing rings, brooches, tie pins, watches, cigarette cases, and lighters - in fact, every kind of jewellery. "How the devil did you get all that?" I asked. "That's a year's work," she said. She told me more of her exploits, which were so amazing I could write a book about her alone.

While she never sold herself, the men she met were always her payroll. The rings and presents she got from them she saved, and what Dippy stole from them they shared. We talked for hours about the club plan, and before I knew what was happening I found myself kissing her and telling her that if she wanted me for a partner I was hers.

That night we had the time of our lives. We went to several clubs, and at last to one known as "The Devil Worshippers," an astonishing place. It was a large house in ------. When Gladys had given the password to the man on the door in curses, he in his turn cursed us into the house.

We went into one large room, where there were ten or twelve well dressed men and women. Across the back of the room I saw a large black velvet curtain, and painted on it in red and white was the most horrible picture of the devil. In the centre of the room was an alter with a cross.

We had not been in the room more than a few minutes when all the people there started to make queer animal noises in their throats. Then two or three men dressed as priests and clergy entered the room, followed by about six quite young girls dressed purely in white.

The procession solemnly filed along the centre of the room. I looked round and there was not a smile on any face. Then they all started to chant. It was so strange a sound it made my flesh creep. The people stood staring at the procession and as it drew level with them they fell with their faces to the floor, still making the same noises.

When the procession reached the altar in the middle of the room the priests and the six girls bowed to the cross. As they approached the black curtain at the end of the room it was drawn open. There stood a magnificent altar, draped in silks and velvets. On it were crosses, Bibles, chalices, and flowers in profusion. As the procession knelt in front of it I could hear a harmonium softly playing.

As the priest rose the lights changed to red, swathing the whole room in a red glow. At this signal the Lord's Prayer was said backwards, with curses, and a scene of sudden confusion followed. The cross in the centre of the room fell over and broke. The priests blasphemed, and seizing the Bibles, tore them to bits; the crosses were broken, and the trappings pulled from the altar.

By this time the people were worked into a frenzy. The priests threw off their robes, the girls had their white robes torn off them, and such a bestial orgy followed that I could not possibly describe here.

Screeching Mob.

While I watched this happening the smell of burning incense began to stupify my brain, and I felt that I should faint. I fought against this, but Gladys saw my distress and took me into a smaller room, where the air was purer. Here was a table loaded with food, but there was no cutlery on the table, nor plates of any sort.

In a few minutes a yelling screeching mob of men and women in a wild state of disorder surged into the room. They grabbed at the food, pulling and tearing at it in their fingers, and making noises like animals.

At last we got away from this place. I had seen everything and far more than I wanted to. My head was in a whirl. I wondered how on earth people came to do these things. "If you get bread and butter from such places it doesn't do to have qualms," said Gladys. Then she pulled out a jewelled clasp. She had found it on the floor during the orgy.

"That's worth a visit, ain't it bert?"

Few people taught me more about the West End underworld than Gladys. One of her favorite tricks was to get a man drunk and then take his wallet, cufflinks, watch, rings, and cigarette case. Many times she came very near to being arrested. She would have been if it hadn't been that I answered the door and swore that it must have been a mistake, as I was the only person living there.

By this time she was well known in almost every night club in the West End; and the most select ones barred her.

Jimmy The Rat.

Occasionally the influence of a well heeled toff would get her into one, and then she nearly always managed to bring home the bacon. Soon Gladys sold all her possessions and started a night club of her own in Soho, the premises consisted of five rooms and a basement.

In a few weeks we were quite popular, and all would have gone well had Gladys stopped letting off rooms to girls, dancing and drink. But, she became very friendly with Jimmy the Rat. There was no crime which he hadn't committed and would commit again.

He was five feet eight inches high, with slim hips, but his shoulders were so square it looked as though the coat hanger had been left in the jacket. He had a broad flat nose on a thin pinched face, and when he spoke to you his beady eyes would roam around everywhere but at your face. Although his black hair was greased flat to his skull, the grease could not hide the kink which showed the Jamaican in him.

One night when Jimmy the Rat was talking to her, Gladys asked me to go along with him and fetch back a parcel. This I did, giving it to Gladys when I got back to the club. When she opened it she said, "Well, Bonzo, there's big dough in this. Take a sniff?" and she offered me a box of white powder. We both took a sniff; but I swore I'd never take another, and I never have.

"Easy dough, eh?"

"Yeah," I replied. "And plenty of time staring at us in the face too!"

Soon after this I noticed that the girls were hiring the rooms to dope the mugs they caught - and Gladys was selling them the dope for the trick. They always gave Gladys a pound or two when they led their dazed men out into the street. Sometimes it was my job to go and help with a fellow who'd had too much of it.

When this happened a special taxi was called, and the driver well paid to dump his fare in the Mall or some quiet side street. The profits grew so large that Gladys fired the band and turned the place into a plain dope den and place where the girls could bring their men victims. The large basement room was divided into cubicles, and there the dope addicts soaked themselves.

At last Gladys got into the white slave racket. She made a contract with a South American for a constant supply of white girls. She would send out a woman to accost girls in lodgings and hostels. These were engaged as maids in Gladys's flat.

Police Raid.

After a week or two Gladys would tell the girl she knew a wealthy couple, old and sometimes crippled, very fond of travelling, who wanted a girl like her. An appointment would be made, and the girl would be engaged by the couple.  She was told to meet them in South America, and all her expenses were paid.

At last I found I couldn't stand this racket no longer, and pretending I was jealous of Jimmy the Rat, I cleared out. I left this racket just in time, as the place was raided soon after. Gladys had been tipped off, and was therefore prepared, so she and Jimmy the Rat got away in time.

*********************************************************************

Later I found myself once more, broke. One morning in Trafalgar Square I got talking to a waiter. He told me he knew of a hotel where they wanted stewards. "You'll get a pound a week, and a few tips," he said, "and they'll give you your board, but you've got to find your own clobber."

I went to see the manager, got the job, and was told to start the next day. But I was faced with the problem of finding the necessary clothes. I left the place and walked down the road thinking out my problem. As luck would have it, I came across a little old man pushing a barrow laden with all sorts of rubbish. Among it was an old dress suit. It was soon in my posession.

********************************************************************

Next morning at five I walked into the bunkhouse, where five stewards were still sleeping. I sat on the edge of the empty bunk. It was not long before a chef came in and started to shout. Four of the stewards woke up immediately and sat up stretching. One did not and the chef seized hold of his bed and tipped him out onto the floor. The chef then spotted me.

"I'm the new steward," I said.

"You're number three floor," he said. "You've eighteen trays to set up for early morning tea. Look alive now, because it'll soon be ready

"Righto chef," I said sarcastically, thinking my job wouldn't last a week under a boss like that. As the chef left the bunkhouse the other stewards were clambering into their clothes. "You've got a good floor," said one, "I wish I had it."

Black Sheep.

This young steward, whose name was Gibb, as I soon learned, took an immediate fancy to me. He was very tall and about twenty four years old. He was apparently the black sheep of the lot, for while the others rushed and hurried to get ready he merely sat up on the floor where he had been tipped by the chef and carried on his conversation.

"What do I have to do?" I asked, "I got the job yesterday, but I didn't have any clobber. I tapped this suit of a tatter last night."

"Don't worry. You won't have to use that until tonight. Here, put this on," and he chucked me a white coat and black bow tie. We walked to the kitchen together. I was careful to do exactly as he did. When he put up his hand for a tray I put mine up too. When he covered his tray with a serviette I covered mine with a serviette; when he got his teapot I got mine, and filled it from the same tap.

When I got my tray set I wondered who on my floor wanted early morning tea. I asked Gibby and he said, "No one on your floor takes early morning tea. That's why yours is such a good floor. You can sleep in another half hour. You can help with mine this morning. It'll help to break you in."

And so for the next hour I busied myself on Gibby's floor, right on top of the building. "Take the tray you've got there into No. 22, Miss So and so. Here y'are, here's the pass key. She'll probably be lying on the bed with half the clothes off."

True to Gibby's expectations, when I opened the door and approached the bed, there lying on the divan bed, her head nicely cushioned on a pillow, with her arms flung sideways, and the bedclothes flung back, was the young lady. I placed the tray on the stool at her side and said, "Your tea, miss."

She must have been awake for some time, as she opened her eyes without hesitation or the least sign of drowsiness, and smiled, saying, "Oh, thanks so much steward. You'll find 6d on the dressing table for you."

Five Predecessors.

"Thanks madam," I said. As I moved over to the dressing table she got out of bed to show me where it was. Then she suddenly remembered that she hadn't left it there at all, and padded across the room to take it out of her purse, standing in front of the door as she gave it to me. I thanked her and bowed my way out.

I met Gibby on the landing and gave him his 6d, which he refused, saying, "You keep it, kid." After our own breakfast I climbed the stairs to my own floor with my first tray, opened a door, and entered. I saw lying in the bed an elderly man, who said, "Good morning. What, another new steward? That's five on this floor since I've been here."

The next breakfast was for Miss Blonde, who, lying in bed awake with just a sheet over her, showed a slim figure about six feet long. Again I got the greeting, "What, another steward!" It took me a good hour to finish my floor. In this time I had taken twelve trays.

That night the time came when I was to expose my shortage of clothes, and although Gibby had expected almost anything of my dressing, he never expected the sight I presented when I tried on my suit. It fitted me perfectly where it touched, but it touched in very few places. It must have been made for a fat man at least six foot tall.

With the help of a pair of manicure scissors I gaily snipped away at the bottoms of the trouser legs until I had reduced them to a suitable length. Here Gibby came to my assistance, and grabbing the trousers at the waist, he gave them a tug until they looked like a fit. Then he pinned the spare cloth at the back of the trousers over in a six inch pleat, fastened it with three safety pins.

The matter of the shirt was much more difficult, as Gibby had sent his shirts to the laundry with the exception of the one he had to wear. Then he had a brainwave. Racing upstairs to the dining room, he came down with a handful of menu cards. Two he fitted with studs and tied round my chest to represent a shirt front, and a third at the back on which to fix the collar.

Cuts And Pins.

Cuffs he made by creasing a menu card and bending it round my wrist, securing it to my shirt sleeve with pins. He cut a collar out of another menu card and this, with the black bow tie he had lent me, looked quite effective.

I cleaned my shoes, and then came the job of making the waistcoat and coat fit me. The waistcoat wasn't so bad, as Gibby had treated it in the same manner as he had the trousers. The coat fitted me at the shoulders, but the tips of my fingers could only just be seen below the sleeves. However, with the help of the faithful scissors and a few more pins, we soon overcame this difficulty.

With all these gadgets of string and pins I was afraid to bend. Even the sergeant major in my army days could not have made me walk more erect than I did when carrying in my first plate of soup, with a towel gingerly tucked over my arm to cover up my cuff.

As I walked down the dining room between four long rows of dining tables, each one for the guests of a floor. I felt very self conscious, I swerved five without mishap. It was when I was taking out a pile of plates that I overreached myself, and a safety pin unsprung with a snap at the back of my trousers. I felt a sharp stab in my rear. It soon straightened me out, and I walked majestically out of the room, keeping my back as far away as I could from the pin.

With each step I could feel a nasty prick, and I nearly strained by belly with my efforts. I had almost reached the door of the dining room when I tripped in this acrobatic act, and the plates went crashing to the floor. Instinctively I bent down to repair the damage, and again I suddenly straightened up as the pin jabbed in.

Trimmings Burst.

Suddenly the menu cards burst from their moorings. I could have cried with fury. Gibby, however, came to my assistance, and he cleared up the mess while I dashed out into the bunkhouse. I thought my job was lost, and anyway I was too ashamed to go back, thinking that everyone in the room had seen my discomfiture.

I was waiting for the chef to come in and fire me on the spot, when Gibby came in and said, "Don't worry about it, nobody noticed. Why don't you take a risk and borrow a shirt from Mr X's room on your floor? He won't miss it."

It struck me as a good idea, and I dashed upstairs and borrowed the required shirt and collar, taking a pair of shoes at the same time. The shoes, however, didn't fit, so I returned them later. The shirt, when I tried it on, was half a size too small, but I managed to make it fit, despite the danger of strangulation. As I looked at myself in the mirror I was getting redder and redder, and streams of perspiration ran down my face.

It was a great relief when, after dinner was over, I took it off. I dreaded dinner time the next day when I would again have to go through the same procedure.

"Borrowed" Suit.

However, the following day I was very lucky, as a man on Gibby's floor was going away for a few days and had left his dress suit behind. It was almost a perfect fit and after going through the wardrobes of several gentlemen guests whose clothes fitted me, I borrowed shirts, collars, and shoes. The only twinge of conscience I had was when I served a man wearing his own shirt.

Perhaps I should have taken a lesson from this, as two days later the man who's suit I had borrowed showed up for dinner. I was unnerved when I saw him and Gibby talking hotly. I guessed that he was asking Gibby where his suit had gone.

But Gibby was never at a loss for an excuse, and explained that he had sent it to the cleaners as he had discovered a stain on the lapel. I was never so amused in my life as when Gibby, later in the evening, told me that the man had dropped him a crown for being so thoughtful.

Anyway, in three or four days I had collected enough in tips to pay for alterations to my dress suit, and it was quite a relief to get back into my own clothes again. 

We brushed and ironed the borrowed suit and Gibby found a cleaner's box in which we returned it. Before taking it back, he marked on the box in blue pencil, "Paid 4s 6d." Out of this, which he collected later, he paid me half a crown.

Britain's Gangsters - A Weekly Dispatch Report from 1939

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! 

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.

He asked me which were the best letting districts in London, and I mentioned Victoria, Pimlico, Bloomsbury and Brixton. "What racket are you in?" I asked, and he told me what he did. "Not a bad racket if you can get away with it." I said. "Well, I've not come unstuck yet, touch wood."

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 him the wife's thinking of buying a typewriter and she don't know the sort to get. I have a look over those he's got and then start to walk out as if I wasn't satisfied. I pretend see, that I don't know anything about them.

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.

A London nightclub, note the chap hiding behind a plate!

Later I began to work drunks in the clubs. This is the kind of way things worked. Wandering around Soho late at night, I went into a shady nightclub. The club was in full swing. The drums were rattling and the accordions whining, and in the smoke filled room couples were shuffling about the floor.

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.