The Twins - Men of Violence by Kate Kray

Author:Kate Kray [Kray, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 1903402840
Publisher: Perseus Faber
Published: 2002-01-30T23:00:00+00:00

RON ON VIOLENCE

You will get more from someone if you ask nicely. There is no need to shout — just say please and thank you. That’s what I always do!

SECRETS, SCANDALS AND SKULDUGGERY

Ronnie sent literally hundreds of letters to me during our relationship, touching on dozens of different topics in his spidery, sprawling handwriting. Most of the letters were mundane — like ‘Bring me two tins of sardines and a new vest.’ But on the odd occasion, Ron would write a letter that revealed the truth about a secret, like the death of Freddie Mills.

Freddie Mills was one of the most idolised fighters of his day. He was found dead in suspicious circumstances slumped in his car near his Soho nightclub. He had a bullet through his eye and a fairground rifle was lying close by. A Coroner’s Court returned a verdict that Mills had killed himself, but no motive for such an act ever emerged and the mystery remains unsolved until now.

Freddie Mills was a pal of Ronnie’s and he also listed dozens of showbusiness celebrities among his friends and was particularly close to gay 1960s singer Michael Holiday, who himself had committed suicide that same year. Ronnie and I talked about Freddie Mills during my visits to Broadmoor. Freddie was a man Ronnie really admired, a real man’s man and, because they were both boxers, they had shared a sort of special bond. I know of the rumours that had been flying about that Ronnie and Freddie Mills were lovers. On one of our visits I asked Ron if that story was true. Ron said that it wasn’t. Friends yes, but no sex. He said that he respected the man, as a human being and as a great fighter and, anyway, he didn’t like masculine types like Mills. He liked young, slim men in their early 20s.

Ron obviously knew a lot more about the whole business than he was prepared to say openly.

Freddie Mills was killed on Saturday, 24 July 1965. He’d had a normal sort of day, quietly pottering about in his garden at his luxury home in Denmark Hill, South London, which he shared with his wife Chrissie and two daughters, Susan and Mandy. Later that evening, as usual, he went to his club, the Freddie Mills Nite Spot in Goslett Yard, Soho.

Freddie was a good host. He was the Peter Stringfellow of his day. Punters went to the club not only to see a World Champion Boxer, but to fraternise with the rich and famous. That night, Freddie was on good form and gave no indication of suicidal tendencies, as friends who were there at the time said later. On the contrary, that night champagne corks popped freely as he enjoyed what was to be his last evening alive. Nobody saw him leave the club in the early hours of that Sunday morning. He never returned home. Chrissie, his wife, was frantic with worry and went to look for him. She wished she hadn’t.

She found him slumped in his car in Goslett Yard, dead.

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