Legend

'London in the 1960.

Everyone had a story about the Krays.

'You could walk into any pub to hear a lie or two about them.

'But I was there and I'm not careless with the truth.

'They were brothers, but bound by more than blood.

'They were twins as well, counterparts.

Gangster princes of the city they meant to conquer.

'Ron Kray was a one—man London mob.

'Bloodthirsty, illogical and funny as well.

'My Reggie was different.

'Once in a lifetime do you find a street—fighting man like Reg.

Believe me when I say

'it took a lot of love for me to hate him the way I do.'

— Morning, Albie. — Morning, son.

— Is that tea for two? — All right, Albie?

Hello, boys.

How you doing? You all right? Got you a cup of tea here. You fancy it?

Yeah? No?

What's this? The old Dagenham Anglia?

Naught to 60 in, what, 40 minutes, something like that?

Phwoar! It's a bit of you, that, innit, all black and cramped and very sharp.

This one's really milky, for you.

Why don't you fuck off, Kray?

All right, I will. You know, I wouldn't want to keep you,

what with all them rapists and murderers you gotta lock away, eh, Nipper?

Where do you take a turd in there?

I suppose you just hold it in, don't you?

All right, then, have a lovely day. Cheer up. It's nearly Christmas.

Sorry about that.

Where's me driver? Where's Frank?

— Can't get out of bed in the morning, Reg. — You what?

He ain't here. He ain't showed up. His heart ain't in it.

All right, OK. Well, let's go get him, then, shall we?

— Where is he? On Ormsby Street, yeah? — Yeah. Jump in, I'll give you a lift.

Nah, you're all right. I'm gonna walk. It's a lovely day for it.

Don't forget this lot. They're very important.

I won't.

Come on.

I shall walk incredibly slowly.

— All right, Vera? — All right, Reg?

— How you doing? You good? — Yeah.

Lovely.

Rita.

I was going to knock on your door. Me mum said you left that in the kitchen.

— Oh, I did. — That yours?

— It is. Oh, thanks ever so much. — Not a problem. You're welcome.

Isn't he sweet?

East Enders.

They won't talk to a policeman, but they'll kiss a gangster. Eh?

The filthy cockney bastards.

How about we clean your car for you?

You get the bumper and I'll get the lights.

Frank about?

Frank!

Who are you?

Frances. Frank's sister.

Hang about, I recognise you. See, I recognise you.

You was a little bit younger then. You got all grown up, didn't you?

It happens.

What have you got there?

A sweet.

That's not any sweet, is it? That's a lemon sherbet, that is.

Mind if I have a crack?

All right.

Thank you.

Oh, that's nice, innit?

— You're not supposed to chew it. — No?

How else am I supposed to get to the sherbetty bit?

— By being patient. — Nah!

Being patient doesn't get you what you want, does it?

Half a minute, Reg. Right down.

— Is he in trouble? — Yeah, he is.

Will you go out with me? I'll go easy on him if you do.

All right.

But not for that reason.

Saturday night.

Who are you talking to? You're half—dressed,

talking to a man in the door. What's wrong with you, Frances?

Get back in the kitchen, finish them dishes.

Hey, this is yours.

Thank you.

Oversleep again, Frank, all right,

and it's back to the cheese shop or the fish shop

or whatever shop it was you come from.

Print.

Print shop.

Oh, yeah?

You'll be back to the fucking shit shop, you understand?

— Yeah. — What does your sister do?

She goes to one of those, uh, Pitman Colleges.

You know, typing, shorthand.

— Yeah? — Yep.

She's got a bit of class, mate. She's very elegant.

Where you been hiding her?

She been away.

She's a bit, uh, fragile, Reg.

— Oh, yeah? — Yeah.

— All right. — Stop here, Frank.

Five minutes. Won't be long.

How long you reckon it'll take for him to twig, Albie?

Little bit of cat and mouse.

'Nipper Read was the copper on the Krays' case.

'And he made his presence known.

'He was heavy—footed, as they say.'

And I'm staring at the back of this geezer's head.

The whole time I'm thinking, you know,

"Give Ron Kray your sausage.

"Give Ron

"your fucking sausage."

You know?

I was drilling my eyes into the back of his head.

Till I'm not even thinking it anymore. I'm not... I'm not even thinking.

I'm broadcasting it.

Until he turns around and you know what he says? He says...

"Hey, Ron, do you fancy my sausage? I've got... I've got no appetite for it."

Interesting.

'When my future brother-in-law said "interesting"...'

Ain't it?

'...it meant he had no fucking idea what he or you or anyone else was talking about.'

Fascinating, Ron.

Fascinating.

'Ron had been sentenced to three years in prison

'for grievous bodily harm.

'Near the end of his sentence, he was certified insane

'and remanded to a mental hospital.

'What was wanting was a friendly psychiatrist.'

What's that?

When you say you want to "raspberry" this man,

I'm not sure of your vernacular. What do you mean?

Raspberry ripple, cripple.

You want to cripple someone?

— Yep, that's right. — And why is that?

Because, Doctor, I'm afraid he may not be inclined

to provide a favourable evaluation of my employer.

And who's your employer?

Ronnie Kray.

Is there hope, Doctor?

Excuse me a moment.

Take your time.

Ronald Kray possesses possibly the soundest mind I've seen

in 26 years of psychiatric practice.

In my view, to keep him here would be a waste of public resources.

A lifetime's integrity down the toilet.

'The Queen would survive, but God save the rest of us.'

Mr Kray.

I hope you know what you're doing.

Yeah, I know what I'm doing. I'm going back to London, gonna take the...

Your brother has no real idea who or what he is.

Nor does he trust his own senses.

I've never seen a man so desperately in need of reassurance.

We all like a nice little compliment now and again, don't we?

Your brother is arbitrary, violent and psychopathic,

probably paranoid schizophrenic.

What I'm trying to tell you is that he's off his fucking rocker.

It's called Stemetil.

You need to give it to your brother twice a day

or there's going to be serious trouble.

Oi, Frances, the car's outside.

Oh!

You've got glamour, Frances. You're like an East End starlet.

East End harlot's more like it.

They're trousers, Mum. She doesn't look like a harlot.

What she's wearing doesn't matter.

When people see her with Reggie Kray, they'll think she's a tart.

Why would you say that?

He's a gangster, Frances. The Krays are gangsters.

— Well, I think he's sweet. — Oh, God!

And I'm going to kiss him. Do you hear me?

— Hello. — Hello.

You look lovely.

So do you.

Hello. This is Big Pat.

— Hello, Big Pat. — Reggie.

— How you doing? You all right, mate? — Miss. Nice to see you.

Big Pat's here to keep riff—raff out.

Always.

So how come you're letting us in, then, mate?

— Have a good night.

— Thank you. — Thanks, mate. Cheers.

Oh, hello, here's trouble. Hold the phone.

— Oi, you. How you doing, big man? — You all right, boss?

— Are you well? — Yeah, I'm fine.

— You behaving yourself? — Always. I'm a teddy bear, me.

Go easy. If he gives you any trouble, come and speak to me. Come on.

— You all right, ma'am? — Yeah, I'm good. She's good.

— Hello, Reg. — Hello.

- Reg, you all right? - Mr Kray.

— Everyone here knows you. — Yeah, well, I own it, it's my club.

— You mean it's your local? — No, I own the place. It's mine.

I've been by here 10 times, I never knew it was yours.

Well, you can get away with a lot in life if you keep your mouth shut.

Ooh, that's Teddy. Hang on a second.

How you doing? You all right? Good to see you. You good?

How's the family? Excellent.

— What? — Those men look frightening.

No, no, they're just East End boxers. They're lovely.

I let 'em drink in here for free, you know.

Reggie, that's Joan Collins.

Yeah, might be, yeah.

We had that Barbara Windsor in here the other night.