The Incredible Rise of a Gorbals Gangster Page 15

  One of the party, a man in pin-striped suit, with smart Bryl-creamed hair, was giving an impromptu lecture, “And this is Glasgow’s famous, or should I say infamous, High Court. As you are aware, there have been numerous, some would argue legendary, murder cases held here. Of course, in this city there is no shortage of criminal clientele. Just across the bridge, we have the Gorbals, which is a breeding ground for rogues and rascals, enough to fill any High Court and keep our legal counterparts in Scotland extremely busy.”

  The party of men and women all laughed and nodded in agreement. It was clear they were the rich, moneyed legal classes who thought that people like Johnny and his contemporaries were only slightly better than the Gorbals rats they were surrounded by.

  Alex suddenly broke away and walked up to the party, addressing the posh fellow who had given the humorous speech, “Excuse me, dae ye speak English?” Alex asked. The man put on a pompous tone, “Of course we do, we are all used to speaking a high standard of the Queen’s English when we are representing our clients in courts like this.”

  Alex replied, “That’s good. Do you know anywhere about here that I can have a good… shite?”

  The man and his party looked aghast. Some tut-tutted and moved off quickly. “Gorbals scum,” said one of the party. The boys, half-cut and giggling, walked over the Albert Bridge to the Gorbals. When they got to Crown Street, they saw a group of drunken men outside the Wheatsheaf pub.

  As they walked past, one of the men shouted to Johnny, “Hey you, ya bastard, you set about ma boy, you’re gonnae get it!” He moved towards Johnny. It was McCoy’s father, who had obviously been on the cheap wine. Two of McCoy snr’s cronies held him back. Johnny reached into his pocket and pulled out an open razor. He waved it towards the drunken McCoy snr. “Oh aye, do ye fucking want it as well?”

  The other men looked frightened. They were well aware of Johnny’s reputation and had no doubts he would have slashed McCoy snr, and even them, on the spur of the moment.

  They led McCoy snr away as he was shouting, “You’ve no’ heard the last of this. Vengeance is mine!” Johnny, in his half-drunken state, was unperturbed. He bade the boys farewell but was aware that even in his inebriated condition, vengeance was heading in his direction.

  Chapter 25

  CARNIVAL

  The Cumbie gang had amassed, a bigger force than the last outing to the Celtic v Rangers match. Johnny was like a general giving orders to those lower in command. He looked at the gangster throng, around 150 guys, all ages, all sizes. Guys in their 30s, guys in their 20s and teenagers. The thing about the Cumbie that was noticeable was that they were all well-dressed. As usual many of them looked like they had stepped out of the fashion pages – neat crew-cut haircuts, handmade tailored shirts, Levi trousers and Doc Marten boots, ready to give any fucker a kicking if they fancied their chances. This attire had become like a uniform for the Cumbie gang.

  They might have lived in the worst crime-ridden area in Britain, with its crumbling buildings and rats, but they took pride in their appearance, and looked nothing like what they were in reality – slum dwellers. The Tongs from the Gallowgate were the same. Also well dressed, fashionable to the core. Members of the less fashionable, less prestigious gangs like the Hutchie from nearby Oatlands, or the Govan Team, were dressed likes tramps in comparison. They wore jeans and t-shirts or scruffy-looking shirts, nowhere near the league of the Arthur Black’s the Cumbie and the Tongs wore.

  On this particular day, Johnny and his 150 strong comrades all looked immaculate, as they usually did, going into battle with the Tongs at “the shows” in the Glasgow Green. The event was held every year, a carnival for the Glasgow workers who had two weeks off from the factories during “fair fortnight.” The carnival was quite a big affair, and included dodgems, waltzers, coconut shies and all the palaver that made up a carnival.

  Like the rest of his troops, Johnny was well armed – he had two open razors in his trouser pockets, and a hammer tucked into his waistline. Before they walked through the Glasgow Green to the shows he made a short speech to his fellow gang members, with some of the less experienced guys listening in awe, “Right troops we’re aw heading tae the shows and if the Tongs turn up we’ll gi’ them a battle they’ll never forget. Last year we got a wee bit of a tankin’, twelve of us either got stabbed or slashed, but we set aboot them as well. This year we’re stronger and better. So, try no’ tae get chibbed or arrested… Cumbie, ya Bass!”

  The boys replied in chorus, “Cumbie, ya bass!” The gang all headed through the Glasgow Green. Johnny had considered taking his sword with him but left it at home at the last minute. He could throw away the razors and hammers during any pursuit but the disposal of a sword would have been more hassle and certainly more detectable. Besides, he had read in the papers that sword-carrying gang members were being given heavy sentences with headlines like – GANG MEMBER GIVEN TEN YEARS FOR SWORD ATTACK.

  At the Glasgow Green he surmised there might be undercover police there spectating secretly on any gang fights. During last year’s battle with the Tongs, 27 of the Cumbie got arrested for mobbing and rioting, much the same as the Tongs side. 24 gang members from both sides were sent to jail for 12-15 months. Johnny was not a great lover of porridge and to him jail was for the “lower bampots”. Indeed, his motto was, “You can do anything you want, but don’t get caught.”

  To be less easily detected, the Cumbie gang split into small groups of two and three before they arrived at the shows. Johnny’s partner in crime and second in command, was big Malky, a labourer in his mid 30s. He was reckoned to be “as game as fuck” and a powerhouse in any battle, especially against the Tongs. Like many of the major forces, the Tongs regularly had changes of leadership, many of them having been sent to jail. Their leaders had been arrested because at the end of the day they were not as lucky as the Cumbie when it came to being apprehended. Johnny put it down to the fact that at that time, the headquarters of the Glasgow Police was based bang in the centre of Tong territory near Glasgow Cross. The magistrates’ courts were also there.

  A short walk away was the Sheriff Court and High Court, so when it came to being hung drawn and quartered, the Tongs had a geographical disadvantage. They were the on the wrong side of the river and too near the authorities.

  As they began to walk through the shows, the carnival was buzzing with loud rock and pop music. Malky said to Johnny, “Hey, some buzz man. It always gets ma adrenalin going. Chibbed three o’ those Tong bastards last year. Maybe ah can make it four this year!” He then gave out the laugh of a maniac, a maniac ready for violence. A madman who thrived on the aggression of gang warfare. “Aye ye might well do Malky,” Johnny laughed, “But don’t let the polis see you do it. Five years is a long time in jail.” Malky grimaced, “Five minutes is a long time in jail, Johnny boy.”

  Johnny had been lucky. He had never been in jail, but had probably been in more violent skirmishes than Malky. But the difference was he never got caught, Malky did. He had spent time in approved school, a young offenders’ institution and then Borstal. He seemed quite proud of the fact. Jail was just a minor irritation to him, part of his lifestyle and he made numerous friends during his various spells inside. Over the years, he had enthralled Johnny and his pals with his exploits while inside, which he often described as “the university of crime.” He was not wrong in his surmise. While serving time, he took lessons from a safe blower, a pickpocket a professional shoplifter, and even an old razor king.

  They all showed him how easy it was and in some cases, how lucrative it could be to live on the other side of the tracks. In jail, he had met all sorts of colourful characters, including the sort of people Johnny would never have mixed with, bum boys, grasses and even “stoat the baws” – paedophiles. While most men would have cracked under the pressure, Malky never did. He put it down to his tremendous sense of humour.

  While some may have been crying in their cells, Malky was a laugh a minute kind of guy who joked his
way through the sentences. But he was no mug. Like Johnny, one minute he could be laughing with you, the next, head-butting you. He could change like the weather.

  A few years before, Johnny had witnessed Malky hitting his Borstal day’s pal over the head with a half brick. They had been joking one minute, all laughs and back slapping, the next, nasty and violent, like a scene from a Hammer horror movie. Afterwards, Johnny had asked Malky why he had hit his pal over the head with the brick and Malky replied, “Ah just had tae knock some sense intae him. Since that day he has been a far better man. He’s kept oot o’ jail, got a decent job and has a wee wifey and kids. A brick on the nut can work wonders for some people.” Johnny thought about the remark carefully. Sure, he knew quite a few people in the Gorbals who needed a brick over the nut. It might have led them on the road to respectability.

  They went deep into the carnival and ended up standing at the waltzers. “Hey, this looks fun Johnny,” Malky said, “Fancy a go?”

  They jumped on a waltzer and a man spun them round and round giving them a feeling of exhilaration. Malky began to shout, “Cumbie, ya bass!” as they were being spun around. Johnny laughed, but was aware that there could be an undercover policeman listening in. He told Malky, “For fuck’s sake, keep the Cumbie shouts doon, we don’t want tae get lifted, we’ve just got here.”

  They got off the waltzer and Malky looked a little subdued. There was one thing he did not like and that was being told off. But he responded to the fact that Johnny was the leader and further reflected that his pal had never been arrested and done time. As they stood pondering what part of the carnival they should go to next, a boy of about 17 ran over and stabbed another teenager in the side and made off. The bloodied victim staggered and fell as the waltzers spun around.

  “What the fuck was that?” Malky asked his pal. Johnny replied, “Oh some loser taking a liberty. The scruffy-looking bastard is certainly no one of oor gang. He must be a member of the clatty Hutchie mob and ah think the chibbed guy must be a member of the Fleet gang.” Johnny said in in such a way to imply that those gang members were the scum of the earth, low life, badly dressed fellows who were nowhere in the same league as the Cumbie and Tongs.

  They passed the ghost train and Malky’s mood changed again into a more humorous one, “People pay tae be frightened by shite like that. They should try walking through the Gorbals on a Friday night when the pubs are coming oot!”

  They giggled like schoolboys and walked on to meet up with other members of the Cumbie. “Anything tae report?” Johnny said to a group of them standing near the dodgems. “Nah, Johnny,” one of them said, “Nae sign o’ any Tongs. They must be too frightened tae go intae battle wi’ us.” Johnny pulled out an open razor, “Well, boys, if those bastards want tae fight, they’ll end up getting this.” The teenage guys all laughed nervously and nodded in agreement. Johnny put the razor back in his pocket and repeated his well worn mantra, “Remember, boys, ye can dae what ye want, but for fuck’s sake don’t get caught.” They dispersed, walking off again in twos and threes.

  When they walked towards a coconut shy, a strange feeling came over Johnny, it was like a mini thunderbolt. Nearby, he spotted Cathy and her mother. Cathy looked as beautiful as ever, her mother certainly looked better than when he had last seen her. A spell in the Ayrshire air must have done her some good. Johnny walked over to them and said, “What are the two most beautiful women fae the Gorbals doing at the shows?” Cathy blushed heavily and her mother gave a weak smile. Cathy said, “You are a charmer, Johnny. Me and ma maw are oot for a wee walk. Ah thought it would cheer her up a bit. Her face had been tripping her for weeks.”

  Johnny looked at her mother and said, “And how are ye bearing up missus, how are ye coping?” She shrugged, “Ah’ve been worse Johnny. Ah’m feeling a bit better after ma wee holiday in Ayr. But ah’m still missing ma man. Ah think he’s still hiding in Ireland. Just hope he comes back soon.”

  Johnny nodded, “Don’t worry, he’ll be back soon, nae doubt about that.” The confident remark certainly cheered both mother and daughter up. But Johnny felt terrible inside. How long could he keep on with this charade? How long could he keep the pretence up, knowing that the man they were talking about was now part of the concrete foundations of the Kingston Bridge?

  “Right, see you back in the Gorbals, we’re off tae meet a couple of pals.” Johnny said before making off with his comrade.

  Malky said, “Was that your bird and her maw?”

  Johnny nodded his head.

  Malky said, “Did her father no’ go missing?”

  “Aye, he’s supposed to be hiding out in Ireland, the polis and the taxman are after him,” Johnny explained.

  Malky gave out one his mad laughs, “Ireland? That’s as good a place as any tae hide oot. Naebody gives a fuck in Ireland.” Johnny could feel his stomach churn, the big lie was getting to him.

  They met up with other gang members who were dotted strategically all over the shows. There had been no sightings of the Tongs, which Johnny felt was suspicious. Were they playing the same game as the Derry had played in Bridgeton? He told some of the younger gang members, “It looks like the Tongs hivnae turned up for battle, but they’re fly, cunning bastards and as the auld saying goes, don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched.”

  All the Cumbie guys reassembled on the edge of the shows and the 150 strong outfit began to walk back through the Glasgow Green, towards the Gorbals. When they were halfway through the park they heard the shout, “Tongs, ya bass!” and hundreds of guys ran towards them, brandishing razors, knives and hammers. Malky was hit over the head with a hammer and plummeted to the ground. It was a well thought out ambush.

  There was hand to hand fighting with people being stabbed and slashed on both sides. A guy, in his 20s, lunged towards Johnny with a Ghurkha knife shouting “Tongs rule!” Johnny quickly pulled out his razor and slashed his right jaw with a single swipe. It was the biggest brawl Johnny had ever been involved in. Then they heard the police sirens, the gang members on both sides dispersed. As Johnny ran towards the park gates heading to the Gorbals, he glanced around briefly and saw a fair-haired youth throw something towards him. Thud! It hit him in the back and blood began to ooze.

  One of the Cumbie shouted, “Johnny, you’ve got a potato stuck in your back!” Johnny felt weak and staggered shouting, “Pull the fucking thing out!” One of the boys did and it was extremely painful. He showed Johnny the bloodied potato with a razor blade sticking out of it. This had been used as a weapon by the Glasgow razor gangs dating back to the 1930s. Johnny was getting even weaker as the blood gushed from him. He was helped into a close and they tried to stop the blood flowing, but it seemed fruitless. Johnny conked out. He was sure his time had come to die.

  The next day he awoke in a bed in the Royal Infirmary with his mother sitting beside it, “Oh Johnny you’re awake! Ah thought you were gonnae die.” He had a huge bandage on his back. “The doctor says ye were hit wi’ a tottie wi’ a razor in it. You’re lucky tae be alive.” A few yards away Malky was in another bed with a large bandage on his head. He gave Johnny a painful wave. Malky beamed, “Hey Johnny we got out alive. We live tae fight another day!”

  Johnny gave a weak smile, “Aye, Malky, he who fights and runs away lives to fight another day!”

  Chapter 26

  RECOVERY

  The boys were out of hospital after a week. Both Malky and Johnny recovered rather quickly, but in some ways the incident, being ambushed in the Glasgow Green, had left them with mental scars. It had drawn home to them the futility of gang warfare. Malky, still with a large bandage on his head, turned up at Johnny’s house to visit his injured pal. He was still feeling the pain after having the razor blade stuck in his back and in many ways, he had been lucky not to have been murdered. “What a way to go,” he thought- “Murdered by a tottie!”

  He had been used to face-to-face combat with real men, not those cowards who threw a potato at you, loaded with
a sharp razor blade, and then ran off. Bastards! Complete and utter cowardly bastards, who would shite themselves in a real square go. Mammy’s boys to the core. Johnny was in a lot of pain and let Malky make him a cup of tea to cheer him up. A wee cup of cheer! In The Gorbals, tea was always the great soother in times of trouble. Facing problems? Put the kettle on. Someone coming to visit? Put the kettle on. A cup of tea was the great prophylactic to life’s problems.

  Being hurt gave Johnny the time to think about his life as a gangster and the futility of it all. Drama and violence had certainly given his life some sort of meaning. Sure, it provided him with several roles, Johnny the hardman, Johnny the gang leader, Johnny the part time seducer. He took a sip of his tea and said to Malky, “What’s it all about, man.”

  Malky replied, “What’s what all about?”

  Johnny looked him straight in the eye, “This life business, what’s it all about?”

  Malky shrugged his shoulders and gulped a mouthful of tea, “Who knows what it’s all about. We just go out and do it, like actors on a stage. We’re the main performers on the Gorbals stage”

  Johnny smiled, “What, like those actor guys in the Citizen’s Theatre?

  Malky nodded, “Aye, we’re just like them, the only difference is their world is made up, a fantasy, ours is real.”

  Johnny thought that Malky had hit the nail on the head. So that’s what it was all about- playing parts according to your audience. To his family, Johnny was the loving son. To his fellow gang members, a leader and violent psychopath. To the rest of the Gorbals, he was a friendly, strutting hardman, a game guy who never backed down from a confrontation. He played many roles.

  The sweet tea had given him a warm, almost contented feeling.