His Night With Ronnie
I stepped into the Duke of Wellington, which is very close to where I am staying in Dalston. Five old long-term locals stood at the bar. They were in their sixties. They eyed me suspiciously as I went up to order my pint. I paid for my drink and sat at a nearby table: five pairs of eyes followed me there and stayed trained upon me for several rather uncomfortable minutes. Eventually, the men returned to their varied conversations. They were all half-tanked and they held their pint jars in their massive, big-knuckled hands - hands which, I surmised, had caused their share of damage in the past. Four of the men were standing at the bar, and the fifth - a wizened old geezer with dyed black hair and a grey, crumpled, sad face - was sitting on a bar stool between them. He was now holding court, and wheezing spectacularly.
"They told me years ago that I should've had it cut aht. It's been in my left lung for four or five years now. But I said no. Once they've got yer on that operatin' table, all cu' open an' exposed to the air, there's no tellin' what you might catch. So I told 'em no fank you very much, you can keep yer knives away from me." The other men nodded in agreement.
"And, d'you know what, 'Arry?" he continued, gazing into the diamond-hard face of the balding man on the end, "The lump ain't got no bigger in all them years, so I don't regret it for a minute." There was more nodding in agreement at this practical wisdom. The seated man thought for a moment as they all quaffed their pints, and then he said, apropos of nothing,
"I was a right tearaway in my yoof ... I was, 'Arry ... No, I really was, Jack ... I 'ung around wiv the players. When I was seventeen I woke up one mornin' in bed next to Ronnie. I 'ad absolutely no idea 'ow I got there or nuffin'. I says to Ronnie, I says, what 'appened 'ere, then, last night? An' Ronnie turns to me an' 'e says, You don't wanna know, Lionel, you don't wanna know!" The other men roared with laughter at Ronnie Kray's courtesy. The man continued,
"And o'course everyone finks it was just Ronnie who was the bender, but Reggie 'ad 'is moments an' all, now an' again, as we all know." There was general agreement along the bar, as each of the men smiled and nodded to each other.
"They told me years ago that I should've had it cut aht. It's been in my left lung for four or five years now. But I said no. Once they've got yer on that operatin' table, all cu' open an' exposed to the air, there's no tellin' what you might catch. So I told 'em no fank you very much, you can keep yer knives away from me." The other men nodded in agreement.
"And, d'you know what, 'Arry?" he continued, gazing into the diamond-hard face of the balding man on the end, "The lump ain't got no bigger in all them years, so I don't regret it for a minute." There was more nodding in agreement at this practical wisdom. The seated man thought for a moment as they all quaffed their pints, and then he said, apropos of nothing,
"I was a right tearaway in my yoof ... I was, 'Arry ... No, I really was, Jack ... I 'ung around wiv the players. When I was seventeen I woke up one mornin' in bed next to Ronnie. I 'ad absolutely no idea 'ow I got there or nuffin'. I says to Ronnie, I says, what 'appened 'ere, then, last night? An' Ronnie turns to me an' 'e says, You don't wanna know, Lionel, you don't wanna know!" The other men roared with laughter at Ronnie Kray's courtesy. The man continued,
"And o'course everyone finks it was just Ronnie who was the bender, but Reggie 'ad 'is moments an' all, now an' again, as we all know." There was general agreement along the bar, as each of the men smiled and nodded to each other.
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