The Underworld Captain: From Gangland Goodfella To Army Officer Read online

  I was frightened that night and kept telling myself over and over: ‘You’re not going through that ever again.’

  It worked, because I was never scared again, and after that night P got the message and, I’m willing to bet, told himself, ‘Let him be.’ From then on, I forced myself into a routine in which I would never drink any fluids after four o’clock in the afternoon, so my bladder was empty for the evening. It was a masterstroke. Never again did I wet the bed or be invited by P back to his room.

  Nowadays, what he did is termed grooming. I was always a strong character and I believe P recognised that but decided to take a chance. For him, it was hit or miss, but he very quickly learned I wasn’t up for it. He had tried again before I left his room on the off chance I might relent, only to find my resolve not to give in was stronger than ever.

  It was commonly known that there were boys who were going into the Brothers’ rooms and staying. They tended to be weak individuals, those who were generally picked on. The majority of guys in the orphanage were pure street chavs, as bad as Pawny and me, whose attitude was, if it isn’t bolted down, then we’re off with it. Most of us would speak together, stick together, sniff glue together, all that kind of stuff, and then keep the rest at arm’s length. That included the Brothers and those who were actually or potentially getting abused, to some extent. I know, looking back, that I tended to turn a blind eye to some things or ignore them on purpose, taking the attitude that if it hasn’t happened to you, then stay quiet and do nothing.

  Like a lot of young guys of my age, I’d sniffed glue. Nowadays, I suppose, young people use drugs instead, but at the orphanage it was glue. It was evil stuff, but you could get hold of it more easily than you could alcohol, for instance. When we stayed in Galloway Street and there was no money to buy glue, we discovered you could get an amazing high from fire extinguishers. From Galloway Street, you could cross a wasteland and get onto the railway line to the sidings at Cowlairs. There were often trains standing there, waiting to go into repair sheds. We used to break into the trains, steal the fire extinguishers and take them back to the waste ground, where we would burst them open and spray the contents into a can. Then we’d sniff it. It was mental. I wouldn’t advise anybody to try it. One of our friends sniffed the contents of an extinguisher one day and it knocked him out. He fell and hit his head on a paving stone and died.

  Happily, sniffing glue didn’t seem to affect me, and at St Ninian’s I excelled in sport, education and singing. I had always been a good footballer, but my money-making turns in the real world meant that while my pals were playing I was doing other things. Even so, at Albert primary and secondary I played for both school teams. Once I got to the orphanage, though, I was being noticed by scouts from some of the main football clubs in the area. Every week we would play the local schools and clubs at rugby and football and I was captain of both teams, and regarded as a very good player with a lot of talent. Word of this got about to the extent that one day, whilst I was walking down the aisle in my full altar boy regalia, the priest, Father Burns, stepped out and took a photograph of me. He told me that if I ever ended up playing for Glasgow Rangers, he would embarrass me by sending the photograph to the Daily Record. I still have the photograph to this day; however, it tends to get hidden on occasions, along with the orange jumper snapshot.

  I made a lot of friends at St Ninian’s and was made team captain for our House, but unfortunately in life there always seems to be a dark cloud around every corner and now one appeared on the horizon, heading in my direction.

  I found myself joined by three guys from Springburn. We knew each other and I had done turns with them in the past. However, I was determined not to drift back into my old lawless routine because I was content with life; I was focused on doing what I was told and had decided to join the army. Things rarely work out the way we plan, though.

  Pawny was starting to go off the rails, running away only to be brought back by the police. The sight of him standing by the roadside, thumbing lifts, became frequent. He was trying to get back to Glasgow and always had some story to tell anyone asking where he was going. The local pubs and shops were regarded as fair game to those in the orphanage, with the result that drink and cigarettes would often be passed around for free. I dreaded being accused of being responsible, knowing that would have almost inevitably meant another summons to the room of P, his excuse being that I needed to explain my actions to him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  After a year at St Ninian’s, I got the news I had always dreaded: we were leaving. Mum had appeared back on the scene and had been allocated another house, and we were moving in there with her and Jim Brannan. I had loved being at St Ninian’s and was not looking forward to returning to Glasgow, but there was nothing I could do.

  Our new home was in Burmola Street, Possilpark, at the top end, at Wester Common. At first I was apprehensive, thinking of what had gone on in the past and wondering if the rows would recur, but my fears were soon overcome when I saw that Mum and Jim appeared to have got their act together. The house was smartened up and we had our own rooms. It was like being back in Galloway Street because outside was a street full of people my age, only this time they were mainly females. Suddenly, things were looking good.

  I returned to Possilpark Secondary School and met all my old friends from my last stint there. Things were definitely looking a lot better. I began moving from one girlfriend to another, which brought me into closer contact with the family of Robert O’Hara, who, when he grew into adulthood, would regrettably be sentenced to life imprisonment for murder. Pawny and I and our girlfriends would spend a fair bit of time babysitting him for his parents during weekdays and weekends.

  Eventually, I moved on from babysitting and, like so many of my friends of that time, I started experimenting with all sorts of stimulants such as acid tablets and, of course, alcohol. Tiny squares of acid, the hallucogenic drug LSD, also known as tabs and blotters, were all the rage. I read one day that they took you on a trip during which the entire universe could turn wobbly, the intensity of colours changed, your senses were confused and disoriented and everyday objects took on bizarre and terrifying forms. Absolutely right.

  Pawny, meantime, maintained his friendship with Robert, who was given the nickname ‘Birdman’ because he developed a really keen interest in birds, especially pigeons.

  * * *

  Despite his friendship with other girls, Alex continued to hanker after Angie. Their meetings were rare, and often her comments towards Alex would seem terse, almost offhand, but slowly she was starting to quite like him.

  The Shannon brothers knew another local boy by this stage, named William ‘Gibby’ Lobban. As the years passed, Lobban would be given many other nicknames, including ‘Billy’, ‘Tootsie’ and, more sinister perhaps, ‘Judas’. Like the Shannon brothers, Lobban had known hardship and came from a deprived background. In a sense, his life was mapped out for him from the first day he entered the world, when his mother, a member of the Manson family, gave birth to him in Exeter prison on 21 February 1968. She was serving a prison sentence for her part in a robbery that had gone wrong. The baby was sent north to Glasgow to be raised by his grandparents before his mother was able to rejoin them and take over the task of raising her son.

  As other youngsters drifted into the company of the Shannons, Lobban tagged along with them. He liked to think of himself as one of the Shannon gang and the brothers became aware of the increasing frequency of his visits to their home. Most of the others had already had at least one run-in with the police, and Lobban liked to claim he too had had his brief moment of infamy. He boasted of how he had decided to exact his own youthful form of justice when his grandparents became embroiled in an argument with their neighbours. His version of events, one intended to impress, was that he had stolen money from home and gone to a gun shop in the east end of the city where he persuaded someone he knew to go in and buy him a slug gun capable of firing pellets. His idea was to shoot out
the windows of the neighbours who were upsetting his grandparents. He took up position on the other side of the road to begin his onslaught, but at that point the neighbours’ son appeared and so he switched his aim to the boy’s leg and fired. The police were called but because of his age Lobban was merely given a similar dressing-down from a senior officer as that dished out to Alex following his earlier arrest for burglary.

  It was around this time that the name Arthur Thompson was being whispered in criminal circles in Glasgow. He knew all about life in the tough east end, having been raised by his mother Catherine and steel worker dad Edward in the same Springburn streets as those in which the Shannons and McGoverns faced each other. He learned a trade as a joiner and then as soon as he was old enough earned cash as a bouncer in dance halls and clubs. His barrel chest and broad shoulders then brought him to the attention of entrepreneur Morris Mendel, who ran a string of pubs and clubs, and a lucrative bookmaking racket. Mendel kept a step ahead of the law, but Arthur was not so lucky. He was jailed for three years in 1951 for assault and robbery, and not long after being released was back inside, this time serving an eighteen-month stretch for extortion. In 1966, he was badly injured when a bomb exploded under his car as he was giving his mother-in-law a lift. The device killed her. Not long after he had recovered Arthur was driving near his home when he spotted two men he suspected of being behind the bomb plot. He forced their van to smash into a lamppost, killing them both. On the same day at the High Court in Glasgow, he was first cleared of their murder and then went into the witness box himself to claim he could not identify three men standing in the dock accused of planting the car bomb. They walked free.

  Arthur expanded into money lending. It was said he crucified at least one customer for not paying him back on time. He ran protection rackets, sold guns and then moved into the drugs business. He worked for the Kray twins in London and counted among his trusted friends the likes of London gangster Ronnie Knight, later to become the husband of Carry On and EastEnders star Barbara Windsor. In 1968, Arthur was arrested on suspicion of being involved in a £3,000 warehouse robbery after a suspicious policeman discovered stolen clothing in one of his cars. While he waited for his trial, anticipating a heavy sentence, it was rumoured he was visited by undercover officers from the intelligence services who were interested in his arms dealings in England and Ireland. No one knows what transpired, but shortly after the visit Arthur was jailed for just four years and walked free after serving only two.

  As his underworld reputation grew, he became known as the Godfather of Glasgow. Arthur always denied having any involvement in crime, protesting he was nothing more than a legitimate businessman, but his role as a feared capo in succession to the hoods who had gone before him was not disputed until the emergence of others, in particular Tam McGraw and Paul Ferris. Neither sought the title, but notoriety was thrust upon them, particularly by the media.

  If Arthur had hoped his thriving businesses would be safe in the hands of his oldest son Arthur (known cruelly as ‘Fatboy’ or the ‘Mars Bar Kid’ due to a liking for chocolate treats), then he was disappointed. Arty was a wizard with things mechanical – cars and especially guns – but he had a habit of using his father’s name to threaten anyone crossing him.

  By the early 1980s, he was making an increasing number of enemies due to his participation in the high-risk drug-dealing business. His activities in this field were also bringing him to the notice of the police.

  Arthur kept McGraw, whose Barlanark Team was going from strength to strength, at a distance. The men had no desire to encroach on the territory of one another; such trespassing would only bring trouble. He was devoted to Arty, but, conscious of his son’s weaknesses, looked elsewhere for young men who would do work he could not entrust to his eldest son. He cast his eyes in the direction of Ferris, Tam Bagan and Ian ‘Blink’ McDonald. The former two would, for a time, work for him as enforcers: collectors of debts and exactors of punishment. The latter decided that if Arthur had dirty work to be done, then he should do it himself.

  Being asked to join the Thompson camp was a feather in the cap of any up-and-coming gangster. The Godfather was thought to be indestructible and fearless. However, it was said that there was one man for whom he would step from the pavement in order to allow him to pass – Bobby Dempster.

  Another who had begun life in the east end of Glasgow, Dempster had become a leading light in the young gangs running the streets of Possil, known locally as Posso, but knew bigger things awaited him. Big, strong and clever, he would go on to run a highly successful company supplying security to the likes of clubs and building companies. His principal attribute was his discretion. Few knew his business and fewer were bold enough to ask questions. He moved away from the east end, but his mother remained, living close to the Shannons in Possilpark. Bobby regularly returned to see his mother and those visits were watched by a young man who seemed especially curious.

  * * *

  Lobban hung around us and our house so much that he became a sort of stepbrother. We’d go home and find him already there. When we went out, he’d appear out of the blue and join us. He particularly attached himself to Pawny, who had his own gang by this time and was doing very well. We had no problem then with Lobban, but one thing that always sticks in my mind about him growing up is his fascination for Bobby Dempster. As soon as Bobby’s car appeared outside his mother’s house, Gibby would be down there asking, ‘Is everything OK, Bobby? Do you need anything done? How’s your ma, Bobby?’ It was as if they were the best of mates. Maybe it was his ambition to follow in Bobby’s footsteps by being successful that resulted in Lobban going down the path he did in later life.

  Posso was one of the roughest areas of Glasgow and was home to many families with big reputations, including that of Jamie Daniel. Jamie had known my family for many years. He was especially friendly with Tam and they had a great mutual respect for one another. Jamie was a good guy who stuck by his friends and we knew that if we should ever need his help it would be there for us. My cousin George Masterton stayed and worked with Annette Daniel. They lived across the road from us when we were in Finlass Street and are still together. I don’t want to mention too many names, but there have been scores of people involved in murders and major crimes who have lived in this part of Glasgow over the years. Perhaps it was the hard upbringing most of us had, the lack of money and food that made us cling onto what we had and refuse to give in to anybody who tried to take what was ours away from us. If that meant fighting to hang onto our own, then we would fight. The Jungle was well named.

  Around this time, a face from the past came back to haunt me, the man I’m calling Charlie Davis. I have always believed that every bully gets his just deserts and now his dawn had broken. With a few of my mates at my heels, I followed him up to his home in the Wester Common flats. Before he could reach the safety of the lift, he had been caught and retribution dished out. There were other occasions where he could have been punished for his part in that terrible night in Galloway Street, but I left it at the one reminder. He truly got what he deserved, but every other day he would walk by me at Saracen Cross and I felt nothing but hatred for him. To me, he was the reason I’d had to leave Springburn and endure all that had happened to me after that. Other factors came into it, of course, but we lost everything because of him and I cannot help how I felt and what I thought at the time. I never said another word to him again.

  Heroin had taken its toll on our area. There seemed to be junkies everywhere and a couple of our friends were dabbling in the drug that has taken so many lives. Eventually, one of our mates, who was just 15, overdosed and died. At the time, he was said to have been the youngest drug user in Glasgow to have lost his life. This shocked me into thinking about sorting out my own life.

  After leaving St Ninian’s, I had tried to be more reserved in what I was doing, but times were hard and I still needed money. I was occasionally burgling the odd shop to keep my pockets jangling, but I no lo
nger went out at night to screw a shop just for the sake of doing so. I would leave it until I was skint and then go and tan somewhere. I was being more selective, but all the same I was taking chances. I was known to the police, so I was being lifted and caught on a regular basis, and sometimes the methods the police used went beyond the bounds of reason.

  Constantly in the back of my mind was my determination to join the army, but while I was honestly doing my best to stay trouble-free, temptation can be difficult to resist. That was how it was in the case of the man from the Provvy, the Provident Financial.

  The principle of the Provident Financial was that you took out a loan in the form of a Provvy cheque which you could use in shops, then paid interest on the cheque until it was repaid. One evening I was in Barmulloch, where Mr Singh, a teacher from Albert primary, ran a shop. I saw him quite often and he would always say, ‘I hope you’re keeping out of trouble. I know you can do it.’ He made the same comment that fateful night and I was very proud to say to him: ‘I haven’t been in trouble for six months. I’m going to keep my nose clean. I’m going to join the army.’ Later that same night I found myself in Baird Street police station facing prison. It all went wrong for me after talking to Mr Singh.

  A mate and I had followed the Provvy representative and watched his movements. We tailed his car until he got to a particular house, where we knew he was collecting money. We waited until he had put all his money in the car, then left to see his customer in the next house. While he was inside, the pair of us went over to his motor, smashed the window and ripped off all the money and the Provident cheques. We didn’t rob him; we wouldn’t do that. We robbed the car. I stashed the cheques, along with some of the money, and the two of us set off for home.