first opportunity, phoned Harrods and gave them my measurements for a new suit. I wrote to John and my mother and told them I was getting out.
10
HIGH SOCIETY
I was released on the beautifully sunny spring day of 19 March 1963. John and my mother were both there to meet me. I was holding Whisky in a cardboard box, this was her first taste of freedom, as she had never before been outside the prison walls. For both of us it was a fresh start. It was a happy day. Freedom! We drove to Stafford.
That evening, John and my mother threw a huge party for me, mostly old friends and criminals. Stafford is not exactly central and a lot of people made long journeys. There was no doubt that, as far as criminals were concerned, I had a lot of respect. I was most definitely first division.
It was now twelve years since John and my mother had first met at Kilbride Castle. They fitted together like hand and glove. It was with pride that I gave away my mother to my best friend when they were married on the 26 March 1963. The only thing that would ever separate them wasdeath. For me, that was one of the best days ever. John, my best friend and partner, was now officially my stepfather. We got drunk like never before.
The only thing to sour the occasion was a friend of mine – we had done time together in Winchester. He was known as the ‘Thin Man’. He was a good thief, but he never should have stolen my mother’s wedding present money. He dipped her purse for a few hundred quid on the morning of the ceremony. At the reception, I confronted him. He denied it, as obviously he would. I searched him in the garden. He was too clever to have anything on him. I told him to fuck off – how dare he steal from my mother? I never had proof, but I knew it was him. I never saw him again. You don’t take from your own!
During my seven years in prison, life on the outside had changed – the music and fashions in particular. Now it was all The Beatles and Carnaby Street. They said the country was booming. I wondered what I would do next. What I wanted to do was to steal the jewels off the neck and fingers of the world’s most glamorous movie star. My fingers touched Elizabeth Taylor’s diamond rings when we shook hands. An opportunity missed, it keeps me awake at nights.
It was a chance meeting with Terence Rattigan that led me straight into the private Dorchester suite of Liz Taylor and Richard Burton. Rattigan was now middle-aged. Apart from his status he held no interest for me. The feeling wasn’t reciprocated. He gazed into my eyes, pushed himself up against me whenever possible. He was a pain in the arse – which was just what he wanted from me, but I wasn’t ‘pitching’.
I let him talk. When he told me he was among a select few guests invited to have drinks with Hollywood’s golden couple, I actually took some interest. Burton and Taylor were like showbiz royalty, the world’s most charismatic and glamorous stars. Where they went, the world’s press followed. My mood with Rattigan softened and I told him I would be delighted to accompany him.
They had the Oliver Messel Suite. Taylor was extravagantly beautiful and Burton looked like a screen icon. In between rubbing himself up against me, Rattigan introduced me to everyone. Sammy Davis Jnr was there, Mia Farrow, her mother Maureen O’Sullivan, and various writers, producers, and anyone else who could wangle an invitation to come and pay homage.
It was an honour to be in their company. Even so, while everyone fawned around Cleopatra, I tried all the bedroom doors. They were locked. Bastards! The people in this room were worth a fortune. As I couldn’t rob them, I relaxed and enjoyed the company. I liked Richard particularly. Taylor was dripping in gold, but I couldn’t get anywhere near it. Rattigan’s continual rubbing up against me was getting on my nerves. Let him go and pay one of the pouting youths who hung around the lobby. I made my excuses and left.
I had always
10
HIGH SOCIETY
I was released on the beautifully sunny spring day of 19 March 1963. John and my mother were both there to meet me. I was holding Whisky in a cardboard box, this was her first taste of freedom, as she had never before been outside the prison walls. For both of us it was a fresh start. It was a happy day. Freedom! We drove to Stafford.
That evening, John and my mother threw a huge party for me, mostly old friends and criminals. Stafford is not exactly central and a lot of people made long journeys. There was no doubt that, as far as criminals were concerned, I had a lot of respect. I was most definitely first division.
It was now twelve years since John and my mother had first met at Kilbride Castle. They fitted together like hand and glove. It was with pride that I gave away my mother to my best friend when they were married on the 26 March 1963. The only thing that would ever separate them wasdeath. For me, that was one of the best days ever. John, my best friend and partner, was now officially my stepfather. We got drunk like never before.
The only thing to sour the occasion was a friend of mine – we had done time together in Winchester. He was known as the ‘Thin Man’. He was a good thief, but he never should have stolen my mother’s wedding present money. He dipped her purse for a few hundred quid on the morning of the ceremony. At the reception, I confronted him. He denied it, as obviously he would. I searched him in the garden. He was too clever to have anything on him. I told him to fuck off – how dare he steal from my mother? I never had proof, but I knew it was him. I never saw him again. You don’t take from your own!
During my seven years in prison, life on the outside had changed – the music and fashions in particular. Now it was all The Beatles and Carnaby Street. They said the country was booming. I wondered what I would do next. What I wanted to do was to steal the jewels off the neck and fingers of the world’s most glamorous movie star. My fingers touched Elizabeth Taylor’s diamond rings when we shook hands. An opportunity missed, it keeps me awake at nights.
It was a chance meeting with Terence Rattigan that led me straight into the private Dorchester suite of Liz Taylor and Richard Burton. Rattigan was now middle-aged. Apart from his status he held no interest for me. The feeling wasn’t reciprocated. He gazed into my eyes, pushed himself up against me whenever possible. He was a pain in the arse – which was just what he wanted from me, but I wasn’t ‘pitching’.
I let him talk. When he told me he was among a select few guests invited to have drinks with Hollywood’s golden couple, I actually took some interest. Burton and Taylor were like showbiz royalty, the world’s most charismatic and glamorous stars. Where they went, the world’s press followed. My mood with Rattigan softened and I told him I would be delighted to accompany him.
They had the Oliver Messel Suite. Taylor was extravagantly beautiful and Burton looked like a screen icon. In between rubbing himself up against me, Rattigan introduced me to everyone. Sammy Davis Jnr was there, Mia Farrow, her mother Maureen O’Sullivan, and various writers, producers, and anyone else who could wangle an invitation to come and pay homage.
It was an honour to be in their company. Even so, while everyone fawned around Cleopatra, I tried all the bedroom doors. They were locked. Bastards! The people in this room were worth a fortune. As I couldn’t rob them, I relaxed and enjoyed the company. I liked Richard particularly. Taylor was dripping in gold, but I couldn’t get anywhere near it. Rattigan’s continual rubbing up against me was getting on my nerves. Let him go and pay one of the pouting youths who hung around the lobby. I made my excuses and left.
I had always
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