Authors: Jimmy Cryans
I
t was 1985 and I was about to enter a very dark period. It would last for almost seven years and I have come to refer to them as ‘the lost years’. Looking back now I am able to see a pattern. It was no coincidence that when the feeling of emptiness was at its worst I seemed to press the
self-destruct
button. I would not listen to anyone. I just did not give a fuck. This was a very selfish attitude to adopt because it gave no thought or consideration to the feelings of others, most notably my ma and my immediate family.
I was spending just about all my time with Billy. He was coming on bits of ‘work’ with me, usually smash-and-grabs. I had to teach him the ropes and coach him thoroughly before each job. His role was mainly minding and making sure that once I had secured the prize that no one interfered or attempted to stop us. Billy was very good at this, but it would be fair to say that not all jobs were carried out with the same work ethic that I had always brought to bear. For instance, instead of spending maybe two weeks planning I
would spend just a couple of days, usually making sure our getaway was secure. But again we were fortunate and never once did we get a sniff from the law.
The real kamikaze stuff was where the violence was concerned and it was spiralling out of control. While both Billy and I were on the receiving end of some truly horrific violence, I have never had a death wish and for the most part it was us two who were giving it out. There wasn’t a week that went by without us stabbing, slashing, coshing and battering some guys. Some of these were bits of ‘work’ we were paid to do but most of them involved pub brawls, arguments that started in clubs or old scores that had to be settled. There were also times when we were ambushed. On the occasions when we found ourselves in hospital and the coppers wanted us to tell them who did it, we simply told them to fuck off home and play with their toys.
My dear uncle John had died and the loss was a real blow to me. I loved that man. He had always been so good to me and was truly like a father figure as I was growing up. I still miss wee John to this day. On the evening of his funeral myself, my cousin James – John’s son – and my sister Carolyn went for a drink in East Kilbride. After having an altercation with the manager, who was a right lairy bastard, I proceeded to wreck his pub – and I mean wreck it. As well as destroying the gantry behind the bar I took a pool cue and systematically smashed the place to pieces. Windows, mirrors, light fittings, jukebox and anything else that was breakable. I had made sure I did not injure anyone as I only wanted to teach this slag who ran the place a lesson. Eventually I was arrested and charged and it was no surprise to me when quite a few of the local so-called hard men came to court as witnesses against me. Fucking fannies. I ended up getting 60 days.
One Thursday evening in May 1986 I was out on the town on my own and was in a bit of a bad way physically as I had recently been on the receiving end of a severe beating from four bouncers. I took a seat in one of the unoccupied booths facing the long bar in a club, giving me a good view of both the dancefloor and the entrance. Three guys sat down on the seats at the edge of the booth, sharing the same table. After about an hour I decided to call it a night but as I stood up to put my jacket on one of the guys made a snide comment and the three of them laughed. They were all looking at me and whispering to each other, so I said, ‘Have you got a problem with me, boys?’
‘Fuck off, ya bam,’ they said.
Without even bothering to reply I picked up a pint and threw it over them. Two bouncers came rushing over. It seems I had been under a ‘ready eye’ since entering the club. I said, ‘Right, boys, easy now. I know the score and I’m leaving, no problems, eh?’
One of the fucking bully-boy bastards said, ‘Aye, too right you’re leaving, ’cos we are slinging you out.’ They each took a hold of an arm and started to march me towards the exit. I said,
‘Now, listen to me,’ I said. ‘I am leaving and not causing you any bother, so take your hands off me. If you don’t, then I will be back and I will cut the two of you, badly.’
One of the bouncers said, ‘So fucking what? We have heard it all before.’
They probably had, but not from me. They were just using me to big themselves up and that was definitely not on. They let go of my arms just as we reached the foyer where all the other bouncers were standing, who all knew me. I turned and said, ‘Don’t disappear. I’ll be back in a wee
while.’ I know this had an effect because all of a sudden they went very quiet.
I may have appeared very calm but inside I was fucking raging. As far as I was concerned the bouncers had taken a liberty with me and there was no way I was letting it go. I wasn’t even prepared to leave it for a later date. I was doing them and I was doing them now! I found an empty wine bottle in one of the rubbish bins and, taking it to the curb, I carefully smashed it. Then, using the same stone, I ground the neck of the bottle into a lethally sharp point.
As I was doing this, Davie Steele – a good pal of my brother Hughie – walked past with some of his pals. They were making their way to the same club and he asked me what I was doing. He thought I was mad, but he was also genuinely concerned for my welfare and tried his best to talk me out of it. Davie was and is a smashing fella who I am proud to call my friend, along with his brothers, his lovely wee mammy and his brilliant dad Gordon. But there was no talking to me that night.
After about ten minutes two women came out and before the door at the bottom of the stairs sprang shut I was in and racing up the stairs, tool in hand. There was about six or seven bouncers facing me. They had heard me coming but all they had time to say was, ‘That bastard’s back.’ I didn’t break stride and just steamed right into them, stabbing and slashing. It was all over very quickly and as I backed away towards the stairs, the ones who were able and thought I was finished came at me in a rush. But the club’s narrow staircase worked to my advantage. There was only room for one of them at a time and they just weren’t brave enough. I was able to back away down the stairs and let myself out. I waited for them to follow me out – by this time I was in a real frenzy
and truly did not give a fuck. The door opened and two of the bouncers stood glaring at me and I screamed abuse at them. They would not shift yet did not take a step into the street. Maybe that is just as well because I think I would have shown them no mercy.
The following Saturday I came across four of the bouncers from the club in another bar. None of them were ones I had cut, but they had been there nonetheless and they were all big lumps. I looked right at them and said, ‘Hello, boys. Nice day for it, eh?’ and I smiled.
I heard one of them say in a voice full of disbelief, ‘That’s that bastard Cryans fae the other night.’
Now the smart thing for me would have been to keep on walking and leave by the fire escape at the end of the bar, but I just thought, ‘Fuck them. I’m going nowhere.’ So I called the barmaid over and ordered a large whisky and a pint of Guinness. As I reached over for a drink I became aware of two bodies on each side. The bouncers had come down each side of the bar so they could block me in. This was where I made a mistake. I should have taken the tool I was carrying and steamed into the fuckers, but I wanted to let them see that I was treating them with contempt.
‘We want a word with you. Outside.’
My arms were pinned to my side and I was unable to pull the blade I was carrying. They had obviously done their homework. With one on each side of me and one to the front and behind me, I was walked into the car park. The big fat bastard leading the way turned to face me. ‘So you think you’re a hard man, eh? Well, we are going to fucking knock that right out of you.’
Now, this may sound a wee bit strange, but I wasn’t unduly concerned. I knew I was going to get a good hiding but I was
certain that none of these fucking no-use’ers would be tooled up and that is always a plus in this kind of situation. They would batter the shit out of me but unless I was very unlucky I would walk away from this. Well, maybe I would have to hobble a wee bit. I looked him right in the eye and said, ‘Shut the fuck up and just get on with it, Fatty,’ and I spat right in his face. The guy standing behind me launched a devastating kick that caught me in my right kidney and the pain was immediate and sickening. The blow propelled me forward and Fatty hit me with a right-hander full in the face and I hit the deck. I attempted to get back on my feet but the pain from my back was making it very difficult. They were on me like a pack of dogs and the boots started flying in.
Then I heard a voice that was familiar saying, ‘Right, leave him alone. That’s enough, you’ve done him.’ The voice belonged to a guy from the Greenhills called Cob McMillan. He had been in the bar and seen everything. Now me and Cob were by no means friends and I had recently had a wee run in with him, so I was a bit taken aback that he had stepped in on my behalf. I have got to give Cob one hundred per cent credit for what he did that day. So if you ever read this, Cob, I want to say I owe you one, mate. It took a lot of bottle to do what you did.
Cob helped me to my feet and I was in a pretty bad way. I had to be cleaned up at hospital and apart from a few superficial cuts and bruises, the real problem was the pain in my back. I was x-rayed and scanned, which showed that I had severe bruising to the right kidney and possibly a tear. The pain was like nothing else I had ever experienced and for the next week or so I was pissing bright red blood. But by the following Thursday I felt able enough to go out. In fact I was nowhere near well enough but it was important
that I showed my face around town as the rumour factory was in full flow.
I was refused entry by the bouncers at every pub I went to – word had gotten around very quickly. A new wine bar had recently opened and I made my way there. I wasn’t really bothered about being refused entry at all the other places, as I had made my point and let all the door staff know that I was still alive and kicking. I was feeling exhausted and just wanted to sit down for half an hour and have a couple of G and Ts.
I ordered my drink at the bar and made my way to a table. I was struggling a wee bit and kind of hobbled. Two women had been standing at the bar and now one of them came over to me and said, ‘Can I give you a hand with your drink? You look as if you are in pain.’
‘Yes, I wouldn’t mind a wee bit of help. Thanks, that’s very nice of you. Would you and your friend like to join me?’
The woman’s name was Liz and she seemed like a really nice and caring person. It turned out that she lived in her own house not too far from Billy’s, that she had two kids and was separated from her husband. We bought each other a few drinks and before I knew it, it was after eleven o’clock and Liz suggested we share a taxi home. Liz told me she had seen me before on a few occasions at the Greenhills shopping centre. She asked if I would like to come in for a drink at her house and said she was concerned about the pain I was in. Now I know that this may sound as if she was on the pull but I can assure you she wasn’t. She was just a genuinely nice person who was concerned.
Liz had a really lovely house, one of the new-builds. After about an hour I thanked her for the drinks and the kindness she had shown me, and made to go. But as I stood up from
the couch, a wave of pain shot through my back that almost made me collapse. It was so bad that I actually cried out. Liz was immediately at my side and helped me to sit back down. I had turned a sickly grey colour and my face was bathed in a cold sweat. Liz said that really I should be in hospital but I assured her I would be OK. She said, ‘Look, Jim, why don’t you let me make up a bed for you on the couch here and you can stay the night. You’re in no fit state to be going anywhere.’ I agreed and settled down on the couch for the night.
I did not know it then but this was to be the start of a romance that, although it lasted less than a year, would leave a legacy that goes on to this day. That legacy would be my second son.
L
iz was around 29, had dark hair and stood about 5ft 3in. She had one of the nicest smiles of any girl I have ever seen. She was just so kind and couldn’t do enough. Even though I wasn’t looking for romance, it was nice to be spoiled for a change as I had not had any interaction with any woman since my Alison.
I stayed at Liz’s for a week and met her son and daughter who were ten and eight respectively. They were lovely kids and we hit it off straight away – you put children in front of me and they just light up my life. Eventually I healed, regained my strength and felt well enough to make a move. As a thank you to Liz I asked if she would like to go out for an evening. At the end of it I took her home in a taxi and so began our romance.
I wasn’t falling in love and I tried to make this clear as I was aware that she had really taken a shine to me. But sometimes these things have a life of their own and I suppose I just allowed myself to be carried along with it. I should have been stronger.
Liz had separated from her man but he would occasionally
appear on the scene and cause her grief. She was very worried that he would appear while I was there. Liz knew nothing of me or what I was capable of.
One evening in early July I found her in a terrible state. Her man had been on the phone from a pub in East Kilbride. I said that the next time he phoned she was to invite him down to the house so they could talk. I told Liz to take the kids upstairs and to stay there. I watched from the living-room window for this slag to make his appearance and as he walked up the path to the front door I positioned myself on the other side of it and waited for him to knock. I pulled the door open and without saying a word, I nutted him full force in the face and he hit the deck. I cut him from his left ear down to his chin and said, ‘If you ever come back or cause Liz more bother I will cut your fucking throat.’
All of this had been done in a matter of seconds and very quietly. Upstairs, Liz and the kids were not even aware of it and that was how I wanted it. I told the guy not to move and got a small hand towel and threw it down to him. ‘Now, fucking listen to me, you mug. Get yourself to the hospital and get stitched up and you’ll tell them you were mugged. If you involve the law then I will come after you and I’ll fucking shoot you. Now fuck off.’ And with that I came back inside and closed the door. He never bothered Liz again.
A couple of weeks after this incident I was sentenced to 60 days for damaging the pub. Not a bad result really. I was taken to Barlinnie, placed in B hall and soon settled into the routine. Ma and Liz came to visit me and even before they sat down I looked at Liz and said, ‘I know what you are going to say. You’re pregnant, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, Jim, I am. How did you know?’ I couldn’t really answer that, but I just
knew
. Liz could see I wasn’t exactly over the
moon and this may seem strange for a guy who loves children, but I was being a realist. At this point in my life I just wasn’t able to be a father. Whenever I left the house trouble was never far away and emotionally I was just not ready to give of myself. I know how selfish this sounds but I am being honest and it was preferable to living a lie. I knew Liz would not react well and who could blame her? But at the time I felt I was doing the right thing. This was not my finest hour and I truly regret the pain I caused this good woman, even though it was unintentional.
When I was released from Barlinnie I made my way to Liz’s and as gently as I could I told her that I no longer would be able to continue. It may seem that I was heartless bastard but I would have been no use to her and would only have brought trouble. No doubt, this was not a period in my life that I can take much pride in. Liz eventually gave birth to a beautiful baby boy who had the same large, brown, Malteser eyes as me. She called him Anthony, so I now had two sons sharing that name, as my first-born had been named James Anthony.
A bit of ‘work’ came my way from a very close pal of mine named Billy Blair. I thought the world of him and it was mutual. Billy was originally from Oatlands, next door to the Gorbals, but had married and settled in East Kilbride with his lovely wife Donette, a smashing lassie. They had two sons, Billy Jr and Derek, great young guys who I still see to this day. Derek is a bit of a live wire and can be a wee bit dangerous when the mood takes him. I love the guy.
Billy Blair, Billy Robertson and me made up quite a formidable trio. Billy Blair was powerfully built, about 5ft 8in and he could have a real row. Our friendship was cemented one Sunday night in the Greenhills bar when two guys from Easterhouse were having a dig at Billy and he gave me the nod.
We steamed in, flattened them and threw them out. A couple of minutes later the door to the bar opened and the two guys were back wanting some more. I said, ‘Leave this to me, Billy.’
I ran at the two guys and I cut them to pieces. One was practically scalped when I hit him across the top of the head. Billy knew that he could always rely on me no matter how tough things got and a bond was forged that Sunday night. It was to last until the day he died in 2004 at the age of 54, which was far too early. I still miss him.
Back then Billy was a forklift driver and he and some others had a really good scam worked out. They would load a container wagon and have it driven out of the company yard without it being detected. I was brought on board to help with unloading and, more importantly, to ride shotgun. There was a lot of money involved and if there were any problems regarding the buyer paying then I would ‘persuade’ him. This was a role that I was ideally suited for and I never failed to get the required result. Violence was seldom required as usually a word in the ear, a look at me and the way I delivered the word was enough. I know that having me on board brought not just good security but peace of mind to the other guys.
I was also still carrying out the smash-and-grabs and had done a few armed robberies along with a pal who was about ten years younger and a very good robber with plenty of bottle. He was like a baby brother to me. We would often go out on the town partying and there were always lots of women. He was a good looking wee guy and, like me, he always dressed well. Billy Robertson would nearly always be at our side and on occasion we would also be joined by Billy Blair and, let me tell you, that was quite a tasty little crew.
One Friday night in May 1987 I was in the Greenhills with
Billy Robertson and young Ian when this woman passed by. She was very striking and that first sight of her is still fresh in my mind today. She was very small, about 5ft, and had a head of beautiful, curly blonde hair that fell down over her shoulders. She was wearing a green corduroy trouser suit with a bolero jacket that stopped at the waist and showed off her gorgeous little bum. She wore a lemon-coloured,
tight-fitting
silk shirt and she looked fucking sensational. Somebody called out to her and as she turned her head I was able to see her full face. She was smiling and it was dazzling. Her eyes were sparkling with laughter. She was somewhere between Kylie Minogue and Stevie Nicks from Fleetwood Mac. She had a body to die for and the face of an angel that would not have looked out of place in a Botticelli.
I turned to Ian and I asked him, ‘Who the fuck is that wee darling?’
‘Don’t you know, Jimmy-boy? That’s wee Linda, John McCall’s bird, but I think they have split up.’ It came as a bit of a shock when Ian told me that she was 27 and had three kids and a house of her own.
I said, ‘Don’t fucking wind me up, Ian, because I’m going to marry that lassie one day!’ And I meant it. I was completely smitten and though I did not realise it, my life would never be the same. Her name was Linda Hardie and from that moment and for the next five years, she owned me.