In Cold Blood: A Brother’s Sworn Vengeance

Copyright

All names and identities have been changed in this memoir, to protect both the living and the children of those who have died. Some changes have been made to historical facts for the same reason.

HarperElement

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First published by HarperElement 2014 as Our Vinnie This edition 2018

© Julie Shaw and Lynne Barrett-Lee 2014

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018 Cover photographs © plainpicture/mb photo (woman); Mark Owen/Trevillion Images (man with gun)

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Julie Shaw and Lynne Barrett-Lee assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780007542246

Ebook Edition © February 2018 ISBN: 9780007542253

Version 2018-02-20

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

The Canterbury Warriors

Note by the Author

Hudson Family Tree

1970

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

1973

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

1974

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

1979

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Exclusive sample chapter

Further titles in this series

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

Write for Us

About the Publisher

The Canterbury Warriors

We are the Canterbury Warriors

We stay out late at night

If anybody dare come near us

There’s sure to be a fight

Last night we were in trouble

Tonight we are in jail

We’re doing six months’ hard labour

For pulling a donkey’s tail

Way back whoa back

Come and get yer money back

Pea and pies for supper

Our old lass has plenty of brass

And we don’t give a bugger!

(Anon.)

Note by the Author

My name is Julie Shaw, and my father, Keith, is the only surviving member of the 13 Hudson siblings, born to Annie and Reggie Hudson on the infamous Canterbury Estate in Bradford. We were and are a very close family, even though there were so many of us, and those of us who are left always will be.

I wanted to write these stories as a tribute to my parents and family. The stories are all based on the truth but, as I’m sure you’ll understand, I’ve had to disguise some identities and facts to protect the innocent. Those of you who still live on the Canterbury Estate will appreciate the folklore that we all grew up with: the stories of our predecessors, good and bad, and the names that can still strike fear or respect into our hearts – the stories of the Canterbury Warriors.

1970

Chapter 1

Bradford, October

June McKellan was standing in front of her chipped-tile fireplace, skirt hitched up slightly at the back. She was warming her backside from the last of the embers that were sizzling out on the coal fire. Her husband, Jock, was slouched across the brown moquette settee in his favourite position – bottle of cider in one hand, cigarette in the other. His eyes were glued to the television as he squinted through a cloud of fag smoke to watch the last race of the day. June stared at the sight she had married. ‘Are you gonna fucking move today, or what?’ she asked him. ‘And if you’ve won fuck all on the horses again, you better get yourself out on the tap. We’ve no coal, and I’m off out tonight!’

Jock dragged his gaze from the TV and looked up at her. ‘Shut your cake-hole, June,’ he said. ‘You’re going no-fucking-where till you’ve got me another bottle of Joe Rider and some twifters.’ Jock turned his attention to his wife then, his gaze full of animosity as he looked her up and down, and she could tell exactly what he was thinking. And knowing none of the thoughts were nice – the contents of his head rarely were – she jabbed him in the shoulder to reinforce her orders.

‘I’ve got your cider and your fags, gob shite,’ she snapped. ‘Now move your arse off that couch before our Vinnie gets in for his tea. Fucking social worker’s coming at half five.’

‘What?’ Jock said, alert now. ‘What the fuck for?’

‘Been to see Moira,’ June told him irritably. ‘Needs to talk about something apparently. And, no, I don’t know what, because I haven’t spoken to her yet, have I?’

‘Moira?’ he said again. ‘Why Moira?’

‘Because I was fucking asleep, okay?’ And hungover, same as you were, she thought but didn’t add. ‘Anyway, get up and get out, will you? I don’t want you sitting here pissed as a fart when she gets here. Go on – go round your Maureen’s and borrow some coal and a few quid till we get your dole.’

Jock dragged himself up and pulled his woollen cardigan closer round his bloated stomach. ‘I’m getting a bit sick of this, June,’ he said, crushing out his cigarette. ‘Our Maureen thinks I should give you a fucking slap and make you stay in.’

June threw her head back and laughed at him. ‘Your Maureen’s coming out with me, idiot! And I’d like to see the day you give me a fucking slap!’

Jock slammed the door as he stumbled out of the house, and into the sooty late afternoon light. Little twat! He was a good foot and a half bigger than her, and one of these days he would knock her out, never mind the slap. What a fucking cow bag she was, stood there like that, all bleached hair and lippy. Oh, all his mates had thought he’d cracked it when he copped for June – five foot fuck all, and a waist you could get your hand around. Well, they didn’t know what he had to put up with, did they? Gobby little cow that she was.

He meandered down the path and into the street, scowling as he dodged the dog shit on the pavement. He could do nothing right in her eyes. Not these days, at any rate. The three kids, on the other hand, could do no wrong. Fucking twat. He’d slap her proper, one of these days.

Her feckless hulk of a husband out of the way, June resumed her position by the fire, shivering but happy now. She would be down at the Bull with Maureen in a couple of hours, and she couldn’t wait; the blokes down there wouldn’t dream of talking to her like that. Let the miserable bastard stew, she thought. She wouldn’t be dwelling on it, not after a couple of halves, anyway.

Jock had only been gone five minutes when 13-year-old Vinnie burst through the door, a big smile on his face for his mum. ‘Warming the old man’s supper up, ma?’ he joked, pointing to her skirt. June laughed. He was a case, was her Vinnie, and no one understood him like she did. And all the neighbours were just jealous bastards, that was all – accusing him of every little thing that went down on the estate. Yes, he had gotten himself into bother now and again, but so what? All kids got into fights or went out robbing, didn’t they? Why always blame her son? It wasn’t fair.

‘Quite funny for you that were, son!’ she told him drily. Then she nodded towards the kitchen. ‘Go on,’ she told him. ‘There’s some sarnies in there for you and a biscuit on top of the cupboard. Don’t tell your dad where they are though,’ she added. ‘Greedy bastard’s fat enough as it is!’

Vinnie grinned. Then his expression changed. ‘Mam,’ he said, not quite looking at her, ‘you know when the social worker gets here? Well, whatever she says is a load of shit. A few on the estate are saying the youthy got robbed last night, so no doubt she’ll try and fit me up for it, you know, to the bizzies. I swear I wasn’t there, Mam, honest I wasn’t. But you’re gonna have to say I was in all night cos they’re not gonna believe me when I say it, are they?’

June looked sadly at her son. With his wild, shoulder-length ginger hair and his bright blue eyes he looked the picture of innocence. Okay, so ‘innocent’ was pushing it, but he wasn’t the evil twat that everyone made him out to be. He had a smile that could melt her heart and a sense of humour that could have an audience in stitches. She sighed. Now it seemed she was going to have to defend him again. He’d better not have done anything; she was off out tonight, come hell or high water.

As if on cue, the letterbox rattled and the front door was pushed open. ‘Can I come in, June?’ they heard a voice say. ‘It’s only me!’

Sally, the social worker, waddled into the front room, puffing and panting as usual, as familiar a presence in the McKellan household as most of the furniture. She flopped down onto the place on the settee Jock had only just vacated. ‘Hiya, Vinnie, love,’ she said, smiling up at him as she settled into the sagging seat cushion. ‘It’s brass monkeys out there, mate, isn’t it? Get the kettle on!’

Vinnie gave an obligatory smile and went off to fill the kettle. June knew from the absence of banging and clattering that he’d be trying to listen in. He hated his social worker and not without reason; she was always trying to have him sent away. And June knew part of the reason was the same as the reason she did – because it always felt like Sally could see right through him. Not that he’d hear much of interest. June was too busy staring malevolently at the interfering witch. Not grassing up her son when he wasn’t there.

But he was as quick as a whippet coming back with Sally’s tea, so there was no time to say anything anyway.

‘There you go, Sal,’ said Vinnie as he handed over a pint pot. And then, obviously deciding to really take the piss, he adopted his best posh voice. ‘Best mug in the house, that,’ he said. ‘Especially for you. Now then, to what do we owe this honour?’

Sally turned to June, looking less than impressed, and June felt a prickle of anxiety. ‘Hark at him,’ Sally said. ‘Proper little host, isn’t he?’

June scowled at her son. ‘Take no notice, Sally. He has got a point though; you’re not due for a fortnight. What d’you want with us? It all seems a bit suss to me.’

Sally looked directly at Vinnie then. She knew how the estate operated and especially this family. She might be a lump but her brain was pretty sharp. ‘Well, are you going to tell her, or should I?’ she asked Vinnie.

‘What are you on about, you daft cow?’ he responded. ‘She’s off it, Mam, I swear to God. I told you I would get accused of summat, didn’t I?’

June braced herself. ‘What’s he supposed to have done this time?’ she asked evenly. ‘Only, if it’s about the youth club, I’ve heard all about it. He can’t have been involved because he was in here all night with me and our little Josie.’ She glared at the social worker, daring her to contradict her, although half of her knew that Vinnie probably had been at the scene of the crime; had most likely orchestrated the whole thing in fact.

‘June, I’m really sorry, love,’ Sally said, frowning, ‘but he’s been fingered by at least three witnesses, all of whom will say it in court, as well. Vinnie was seen smashing in the skylight, lowering one of his mates in and then –’ she looked at Vinnie again, and June clocked his expression – ‘jumping in himself.’

June digested this, and having done so, felt the bile rise inside her. The stupid little fucker. She sprang forward then, making Sally leap up from the couch in fright. She lunged towards Vinnie, grabbing him by the hair and punching him repeatedly in the head. ‘You lying little bastard, I’ll fucking kill you! When are you gonna fucking learn, you fucking simpleton?!’

Vinnie squirmed under her grip, but she held firm onto his hair. ‘Mam, fuck off! I didn’t do it, I swear!’ he squealed. ‘They’re lying, Mam! Get off me, you div – you’re hurting, Mam, stop it!’

Vinnie was almost hysterical by now, but it didn’t appease her. She might be small but she was as nasty as fuck when she started, and boy, did she feel like starting now.

Sally was up on her feet again. ‘Calm down, June,’ she said, trying to get in between them and extricate June’s hands from Vinnie’s hair. ‘Let’s just sit down and talk about what to do next, shall we? This is getting us nowhere. Come on, June. Let him go.’

She succeeded. June allowed herself to be led to the fireplace, where Sally handed her the cigarettes and matches from the shelf. She lit up with trembling fingers and watched her errant son as he tried in vain to straighten his messed up hair and re-adjust his jumper. He was snivelling now, too, and shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe that his own mother would doubt him. Look at him, she thought angrily, playing it out to the full. Thinks he can even fool me. Me, his own fucking mother!

‘Now then,’ Sally started to explain, once she was back sitting on the sofa, her boobs visibly quivering beneath her floral maxi dress as she checked her long ponytail was still securely in place. ‘It’s a given that Vinnie did do the youth club. I know for a fact that he was also involved in the bingo-hall robbery a fortnight ago.’

‘What?’ June started.

‘It’s also a fact,’ Sally continued, ignoring her, ‘that he hasn’t attended school for at least two months.’ She paused to let both of them digest this part too, and June could see the patronising look in her eyes. She knew what Sally thought of them: that they were lunatics of the highest order. Snotty bitch.

‘Just cut the shit, Sal,’ June said. ‘What’s the score then? My Vinnie getting blamed for the lot, is he? Just cos he’s a bit of a lad?’ She raised her finger threateningly, the cigarette trailing coils of smoke as she did so. ‘You wanna watch your mouth, Sally, because there’s a lot of us on this estate getting a bit sick of your fucking accusations!’

Sally looked pained. Looked like she could do with a slap herself. June wasn’t sure who she wanted to slap most right now. Her idiot son or this arrogant cow. ‘Look, June,’ Sally said, ‘blame me if it helps, but it’s not my fault. If Vinnie chooses a life like this, he needs to know there are consequences. If you had turned up at court – like you were meant to – you would have heard what was decided there, wouldn’t you?’

June glanced at Vinnie. Could see the fear in his face now. ‘Court?’ he spluttered. ‘What’s she on about, Mam?’

June spread her hands. ‘I didn’t know I had to attend, did I? I thought it was just all the usual crap about skiving school, an’ I’ve said it all before, haven’t I?’ She glared at Sally. ‘I can’t force him to stay in school, can I? He’s not a fucking toddler, is he? I can’t drag him by the fucking hand.’ She turned to Vinnie then. ‘And don’t you look at me like that, Vin. If you stayed out of bother we’d have no need for all this, would we? Would we?’

June clocked Sally’s frown and felt herself shaking. She could tell that she hadn’t heard the worst of it yet. There was something bad coming, for definite. She steadied herself with an arm on the nicotine-coloured shelf. ‘Go on then,’ she said, seeing the social worker’s pitying expression. ‘What?’

‘Unfortunately, love – and I did try to stop this, believe me – the courts have decided that he has to be sent away.’

Vinnie, who’d perched himself on the sofa arm by now, sprang up at this in dismay. ‘No, Mam, tell her! I’m not going anywhere! You can fuck off, you fat bitch! Tell her, Mam!’

June was every bit as shocked as he was by this turn of events. She saw his face begin to crumple – proper, genuine tears this time, and she couldn’t bear it – she could never bear to see her boy so upset. If he deserved a leathering, then, yes, she would give him one in an instant. But for someone else to be punishing him was unthinkable. Another thought smacked her in the face then – Jock. Jock was going to go fucking apeshit.

‘Come on, Sal,’ she tried. ‘That can’t be right, surely? It hasn’t even gone to court yet about the robberies! How can he be punished for something not proven? We haven’t even had the bizzies round or anything.’

‘The police will be round, June. They are currently collecting statements about that one, but this is because of all the other stuff as well.’ She raised her hands and started ticking off Vinnie’s transgressions on her fingers. ‘Fighting,’ she started, ‘robbing, mugging, smashing up cars, starting fires … I could go on. He’s lucky he’s lasted so long. No, June, this is the end of the line, love. It will be a week today.’ She picked up her handbag. ‘I’ll be collecting him and we’ll be taking him to an approved school down in Brighton.’

June gawped. ‘Fucking Brighton? How the fuck are we meant to get to Brighton for a visit?’ She could hear Vinnie really snivelling now. She could hardly bear to look at him. She concentrated on Sally. ‘How long is he off for?’

Sally explained how Vinnie would be staying at the school until his behaviour improved, and that the distance didn’t matter because they wouldn’t be allowed to visit. June was open-mouthed at this and Vinnie was really crying now, his head in his hands bent over towards his knees. This was killing him, June knew. And her, for that matter, watching him – sobbing as Sally patted his back as she told him that after a while, if he behaved himself, that was, he would be allowed some weekend visits home. Why’d she flown at him? she thought miserably. Why hadn’t she stood by him? Been a decent alibi? Fucking witnesses. What witnesses? Who knew if they weren’t just out to fit him up, after all?

Sally left not long after and June tried to pull herself together. She needed to be there for poor Vin, who was obviously distressed. But no sooner had she turned back to him than he was wiping his face and grinning. ‘Que sera sera, muvver! Alter your face, I’ll be okay!’

June shook her head, not sure whether to be relieved he’d been putting it on, or furious at the little git for all the play-acting. She chose the latter and went to clip him round the ear again, but he managed to dodge her. ‘We’ll see, son,’ she snapped. ‘We’ll see. I hope you’re right. You realise your dad’s gonna throw a right mental though when he hears this, don’t you?’

And he would, too. Which was no less than Vin deserved. And which she wasn’t hanging about for. ‘Anyway, I’m off out, mate,’ she added, ‘before he gets back. I’ve got a few quid stashed away that he don’t know about.’

Vinnie looked affronted. ‘Well I’m not staying here on my own!’ he said. ‘He’ll be pissed, won’t he? I’m not having him battering me as well as you.’

June softened then. ‘I’m sorry, love, you know what I’m like.’ She pulled her packet of fags out from where she’d just stowed them in her handbag and tried not to think about him not being around for a bit. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘take a couple of ciggies and a few bob for some supper. I’m off to the Bull to meet Moira and Maureen. You can go round to our Lyndsey’s for the night; tell her what’s happened.’

Vinnie, who clearly couldn’t believe his good fortune, grinned widely. Then gave his mum a quick hug and a kiss before running out of the house.

June turned back to the mirror and quickly applied some more panstick onto the bags under her eyes, and a fresh slice of ruby red across her lips. She then changed her coal-burnt slippers for a pair of black stilettos and within minutes she was off up the road to her local, her evening back on track, at least for now. She wondered how many scratters with a few bob she was going to pull tonight. She pulled her old fur coat closer round her, to keep out the chill. And pushed all thoughts of her wayward son to the back of her mind.

Like you did. It was like Vinnie said, Que sera sera. What could you do?

Chapter 2

Vinnie peeped into the window, through the gap in the curtains of his sister’s house, taking care not to be seen. He had vaulted the six garden fences round the backs which separated his house from hers, and he could feel his breath rasping in his throat. Squatting down then, out of sight, he shivered against the freezing wind as he ate the last of his vinegar-soaked chips. He wished he’d had the bottle to nip into his own house for his coat. Fucking old man had put paid to that idea, though. Must have heard the latest news from his auntie or something, because when Vinnie had popped his head inside 10 minutes ago, the senile old bastard had started ranting and raging. Fuck that for a lark – he was off.

He hated coming up to Lyndsey’s because she lived like a pig. But right now, she felt the lesser of two evils. But only just; peering back in through the window, he could see that she was off her head already. She was slumped in an armchair that was covered in puke and chocolate stains, eyes glazed over and with that stupid vacant smile on her face as she watched the three kids playing on the ratty carpet. Vinnie frowned. Fucking 10 o’clock at night and the kids still up. They were only three, four and seven as well. The ‘idiot’ – her bloke Robbo – was squatting on the floor, too, smoking his weed through a milk-bottle pipe, oblivious to fucking anything. Vinnie crumpled up his chip bag and knocked hard on the window. ‘Police, open up!’ he shouted.

Little Robbie, the eldest kid, looked up and smiled at him and Lyndsey, at once alert, jumped up from her chair. Seeing Vinnie grinning in at her, she relaxed and sat down again and was back slumped by the time he’d let himself in through the unlocked back door. ‘Fucking divvy!’ she said as the kids all ran to jump up at their uncle.

‘All right kids, calm down,’ he said, fending them off. ‘Fuckin’ hell, Lynds, you wanna tell him to give that pipe a rest – these three are high as kites!’